Deep Dish
by starfish422
Summary: Slash: Sexy, brooding Jack Charles left Seattle to escape the specter of a love he could never have. A fresh start in Chicago and a new relationship hold promise and hope for him. OTT spinoff; original & canon characters. Explicit sexuality/language.
1. Chapter 1

**Deep Dish is a spinoff of my first serial, Over The Top. Jack Charles is an original character I created in that story; as such, he belongs to me. :) Any recognizable characters which may appear throughout the course of this story are the property of their respective owners. If you're joining this story by referral from DS, thank you, and welcome! :) **

-o-

**deep-dish: ** a pizza style developed in Chicago in 1943, characterized by a crust that is up to three inches tall at the edge

**deep:**(adjective) heartfelt; sincere; absorbing; engrossing; intense; profound; dark and vivid.

**dish:** (British, slang) A sexually attractive person of either sex.

-o-

_Jack_

It's the flyer that catches my eye, the bright white sheet that lies out of place, in the middle of the wood floor just inside the door of my new apartment.

I step carefully over it, not wishing to slip and fall as I carry a large box full of breakables. When I've set the box on the kitchen counter, I walk back through the empty apartment to the front door. My steps echo off the bare walls and floors, reminding me that I'm alone – not just alone in the apartment, but alone in the city, alone in the world.

Alone in my life.

I stoop to pick up the flyer. _Best pizza in the city_, it screams. _Authentic Chicago Deep Dish_.

I sigh wearily; my life might be on its ear, but some things – like junk mail – never change. I don't know whether to be comforted or offended.

I decide that until I've brought up the rest of my luggage and boxes from my car, I can afford the luxury of neither. Over the next hour, I make several trips up and down the stairs, bringing up the items I decided to bring in my car instead of sending them with the moving company. I'm tired out from driving for three days, ten hours a day; and my furniture isn't arriving until tomorrow. With me I've brought an air mattress, intending to inflate it and camp out on the floor for the night; but my body is stiff and sore. An air mattress is among the least inviting options I can think of, right up there with a bed of nails.

I waffle a bit between toughing it out or allowing myself some comfort. Comfort wins out and after I unpack the few boxes I have with me, I'm on the way to a comfortable hotel, where I'll have 500-thread-count sheets and room service. I'm lucky – it's a Sunday night and I'm able to get a decent room without a reservation. After I've called the moving company's driver to let them know I won't be staying at the apartment overnight after all, I sink into a hot bath – not having brought my swim suit, I can't take advantage of the hotel's Jacuzzi – and soak away my stiff muscles. I stayed in hotels during the trip, but nothing fancy. Reasoning that I was only there to crash, I looked for hotels that were clean and utilitarian. But tonight, this is much-needed...and it's heaven.

I order from the room service menu, opting for the veggie burger and fries and rolling my eyes at the $20 price tag. An hour later, I'm full, tired, and ready to stretch out and watch TV for a while before bed.

Being Sunday night, of course, there's absolutely nothing on, unless I want to watch the E! True Hollywood Story on Sonny and Cher. Not so much. I wish I brought my book from the car, but I won't bother going down to get it now. Instead I turn off the TV and roll over onto my stomach, stretching out in bed. I should be nodding off almost right away; instead, my mind won't settle. I keep thinking about the last four months of my life, how much has changed...the things I _could_ change, at least.

It's late February now; Ashton and Kathleen got married eight days ago. Because they had such a short engagement, only four months, I stayed in Seattle until after their wedding. There was no way I could escape being Ashton's best man – nor did I really want to escape it. I also wasn't going to attempt to pull some half-assed best man duty from halfway across the country. So, as they were counting the days to I Do, I was counting down to I'm Outta Here.

I grimace as my mind wanders back to the conversation I had with Ashton the morning after he and Kathleen told me they were getting married. We were all in Austin that weekend for Jasper and Edward's wedding. Ashton and I were in my hotel room. He'd stopped by as I was packing up for my flight back to Seattle, and the conversation led to me telling him I was leaving.

"_Well, my plans aren't definite yet; but I'm pretty sure I'm moving."_

"_Cool!" he said. "Are you buying a place of your own?"_

"_Not exactly," I said. I took a deep breath, steeling myself for his reaction. "I've decided I need a change. I'm leaving Seattle."_

"_Leaving Seattle…?" he said blankly. "Where are you going?"_

"_I think," I said slowly, "…Chicago."_

_He was completely silent…motionless, even…for long seconds, before sucking in a deep breath. "What are you talking about?"_

"_I'm going to look at jobs in Chicago, and if I can find something I like, I'm going to take it," I replied. _

"_How long have you been thinking about this?" he asked quietly. _

"_A while," I hedged, not adding that I'd been thinking about it only since he'd announced his engagement the night before. _

"_Well, there you go", he said. There was a long pause as we each looked anywhere but at each other. "I'm getting married, and you're moving two thousand miles away."_

_I didn't answer, looking at the floor. He was pacing the room now and I sat silently as my best friend came unglued before me. "It's been you and me, Jack, since our freshman year. You're my best friend – and you're leaving Seattle?" He was becoming upset, his voice escalating in both pitch and in volume as the reality set in. "I can't believe you're not going to be a part of my life anymore! Kathleen and I will have kids and you should be their Uncle Jack. Now they'll barely know you!" I winced, and he noticed. "Have you really thought about everything you're leaving behind here?"_

"_I've weighed it all, Ashton," I assured him. The last thing I wanted to do was confess that I simply couldn't have a front-row seat to his happy life with Kathleen any longer._

"_I'm not satisfied with my life here anymore," I said, trying to be as gentle as possible. "I feel restless, like I'm stagnating. I want something new." _

"_You're restless," he repeated, clearly hurt despite my efforts to be kind. "Well, isn't that a kick in the ass. Easy come, easy go, I guess."_

"_Now, wait a minute. My friendship with you and Jasper and Edward, are the only things that really gave me pause when I was considering this," I contradicted. "So don't tell me that your friendship doesn't mean the same thing to me that it did yesterday – that's unfair." _

"_No, you know what's unfair? My best friend told me last night that he'd be by my side when I got married, and this morning he dropped a bomb that he's moving two thousand miles away." I didn't bother to argue, knowing that there was nothing I could say to improve the situation, and anything I did say while he was upset would only inflame it more._

"_Good luck, Jack," he said bitterly. "Good luck with the move and Chicago. Enjoy the snow." With that he left the room, closing the door loudly behind him. _

_I wanted to throw myself down on the bed and scream, but I was becoming seriously short on time to pack and get to the airport and I hadn't showered yet. I forced myself to work quickly, taking a quick rinse-off and throwing everything into my luggage before checking out and driving my rental car back to the airport. Once I was on the airplane I finally allowed myself to process the conversation. I lay my head back against the seat and stared out the window at the airport crew working as I thought about my friendship with Ashton. We had both gone to Harvard, each having uprooted ourselves from California to head to Massachusetts. We ended up the only two Californians in our dorm in freshman year. We bonded over our mutual distaste for all things cold and white and quickly became best friends. In our sophomore year we roomed together, and as we were both into outdoor sports in California we made a pact that we would at least try the winter sports that weren't afforded us back home. Sledding and skiing quickly became our favorites, and on Sundays you could always find us hitting the slopes of one of the many ski resorts within a 2-hour drive from Boston._

_After college we sought out jobs that were closer to home, bound and determined that we would be in the same city. I located my job first, at a brokerage firm in Seattle; and within a week Ashton had landed his job as well. We remained best friends, in spite of our differences, or perhaps because of them._

_Ashton had always been friendly and outgoing, but in a soft-spoken, gentle way. He immediately made people feel at ease, which I admired tremendously. I tended to be more taciturn, and definitely did not draw people in. It was through Ashton that most of my friends had been made, and I'd come to rely on him to break the ice in new friendships. The exception, of course, was when I went out to Spin or XY to find a trick._

_I wasn't wholly dependent on him, of course. He relied on me, as well, to help him get his finances organized. He was terrible with numbers – much too mundane for his artistic personality – and eventually asked me to prevent him from writing endless checks to every charitable group around. He was less discriminating than I was, definitely a sucker for a sad story. Not that he was gullible by any means, simply that he had a very soft heart. Organizations that helped children or animals were his particular weakness. I taught him how to say, "I'm sorry, I've already committed my charitable donation for this year to another organization." I made him practice saying it out loud. Then I made him stick to it. _

_Aside from that, there were so many other things, the intangibles that meant we just got each other: the quirks I knew I had that didn't seem to bother him at all; his habits and absent-mindedness that I knew how to work around. It was everything your relationship with your best friend should be. _

_Until shortly after we moved to Seattle, when things changed – for me at least. _

_I can't explain how it happened, or even when. It was like a gradual, creeping fog, the kind that settles in around you when you're out for a walk in a field. You barely notice at first – maybe you're consumed in your thoughts or watching the ground to be certain you don't stumble. The veil is drawn closer and still you are ignorant, until you abruptly realize that you don't know where you are. Worse, you can't find your way back, swathed in the haze that has obscured the path you believed you were following._

_That is to say, one day I looked at Ashton as he sat across the table from me at a restaurant and realized I'd been in love with him for some time. I couldn't define when my feelings had changed - only that the attachment was formed, and it was as strong a feeling as I'd ever experienced in my life. _

_Of course I didn't tell him. I knew Ashton was straight – he had received and turned down enough offers in my presence that he could have had a very active sex life if he'd been a gay man. No, he was the strongest ally I could have, but straight nonetheless. There was nothing to be gained if I'd admitted it, and everything to be lost. He wouldn't have been threatened but he would have hated the thought of me feeling sad or uncomfortable in his presence – even if neither of those things actually happened. So I kept it to myself. Ashton didn't know, or if he did suspect, he never let on, which was best for both of us. _

_Naturally, though, it didn't make my current decision any easier to explain to him. After the confrontation in my hotel room I didn't hear from him for three days until my phone rang on Wednesday evening. On the line was the person I knew as my best friend – the one who was calm, warm and understanding. He apologized for his emotional reaction to my news; I admitted I'd chosen an absolutely rotten time to tell him. He told me that he and Kathleen had decided on a relatively short engagement, less than four months. Kathleen didn't want a large wedding – just something intimate at her parents' home with only closest friends and family. They'd be doing it the weekend before Valentine's Day. _

"_I know I was an ass to you on Sunday," Ashton said, "and I'll understand if you've changed your mind, but…I'm hoping you'll still be my best man?"_

"_I was afraid you wouldn't want me to," I admitted. "I'd be honored to stand with you."_

"_Good," he said with a sigh of relief. "I couldn't do this without you, Jack." _

_I gulped, knowing he couldn't understand the full weight those words had on me. I replied, "Since it's such a short engagement, I won't go anywhere before the wedding. I haven't even started looking for a job yet - chances are I wouldn't get anything right away anyways. I'll give it till mid-December to start looking, with a view to moving mid-February or later."_

_He thanked me, replying, "You don't have to do that…but I'm really, really glad you are." _

"_Hey, I have to take advantage while I can," I said, only half-teasing. "Soon you'll be an old married man."_

"_Can't wait," he said, quite seriously._

_The months leading up to the wedding were busy for everyone. For Ashton and especially Kathleen, they were in a maelstrom of wedding planning. I was looking for employment, beginning with contacting the person who'd given me his business card. He had survived the economic downturn and was doing quite well. He said he didn't know of any openings at his firm, but that his friend worked at a firm with an incompetent who was inches away from being shit-canned. I sent my resume and a kickass letter to the supervisor there, and the first week of January I got a call asking me if I'd come for an interview the following week. Since my interview was on a Friday morning I decided to make a weekend of it. I booked a hotel and planned to stay till Sunday, figuring I could check out some clubs, look for a place to live…familiarize myself with the city. Edward had lived there for a couple of years after college. He gave me some tips on clubs and helped me avoid the sketchy neighborhoods. _

_Three days before I was to leave for my interview, I got a voicemail at work that nearly knocked me flat._

"_Hi, Jack, this is Jacey…Jacey Dawes? We met in Austin a few months ago. I hope you don't mind me calling you...you gave me your card, so I guess it's okay…um, I'll give you my number…" After he left the number, he continued softly, "I've been thinking about you. A lot. I hope to talk to you soon…Bye." _

_I hadn't heard from him since that weekend. Honestly, after three months I figured I wouldn't. I'd thought about him, of course. In the rare quiet moments my life allowed me, my thoughts often wandered to Jacey and the two nights we'd spent together in Austin. He was sweet - not in the cute way…in the "I've just tasted the most succulent fruit ever" way. We'd parted on the understanding that maybe we'd see each other again, if life allowed it. "You have my card – use it," I'd urged him. But for months he didn't, and I had no way to contact him. He was a precious remembrance for me, his delicate beauty and soft nature. When I thought about him I had a twinge of disappointment, a wondering what could have been, if life had been in our favor. I didn't expect him to call. _

_Hearing his voice again in the message gave me a flutter of excitement in my sounded just as I remembered, and he wanted me to call him. I listened to the message several times, saving it before I dialed the number he'd left. It rang a couple of times before he answered._

"_Hello?" in his soft voice._

"_Hi, it's Jack," I replied._

"_Hi Jack," he said shyly. "I'm glad you called back."_

"_It was a surprise to hear your voice," I said. _

"_I wasn't sure if I should call…" He hesitated._

"_I'm really glad you did," I said honestly. "I've thought about you a lot since that weekend…a few times I wished I had your number."_

"_I'd have called you sooner but I didn't know if you'd want me to call just to talk," he said quietly. _

_There was an awkward pause until I said, "So, how have you been?"_

"_Okay," he replied. "Just got back to school after winter break. That's what made me decide to call you, actually. I had a lot of time to think about you while I was off."_

"_And what were you thinking about?" I prompted._

_He spoke slowly, haltingly. "I was thinking about your ice-blue eyes…your hair that's black as coal…your smooth body…your, um...your cock…" He paused and I swore I could hear him swallow on the other end of the line before continuing, "The fact that you came back to the bar to find me again, the way you kissed me, the tenderness you showed me, calling me 'sweet boy' and telling me I was precious…and how much I'd like to be with you again." _

_Instantly I was aching for him – not just physically, but desperately wanting to be in his presence again. "I miss you too," I said simply. "I would fly to Austin this weekend just to see you…"_

"_Yeah?" he said, sounding hopeful._

"_But I'm already booked to go to Chicago this weekend," I continued. "I have a job interview Friday morning."_

"_You're thinking of moving to Chicago?" he said with surprise. _

"_Yeah – more than just thinking about it, actually. Actively seeking. Maybe next weekend, though…" I grimaced, thinking of two weekends in a row spent flying, before the idea struck me. "Yes!" I suddenly exclaimed. "Meet me in Chicago this weekend, Jacey – what do you think?" _

_He hesitated. "Um…I'm not sure…I know I can swing the airfare, tickets are cheap, but the hotel…"_

"_I've already got the hotel booked," I assured him. "And the rest, food and whatever, is on me." He was still debating, and I added, "I really want to see you." _

_He sighed. "Yes. I want to see you too. When are you going?"_

_I told him my plans: I would arrive in Chicago Thursday night and have my interview Friday morning. He could join me Friday evening and then we'd both fly out Sunday afternoon. That would give us almost 48 hours together. As much as I'd already been looking forward to the trip to Chicago, now I couldn't wait. _

_After my interview on Friday morning, I headed back to the airport to wait for Jacey's flight to get in. The plane was on time and I stood waiting for him to emerge amid the sea of people who flooded from the gate. Soon I saw his shoulder-length brown hair, half a head taller than many around him, and my whole body tensed in anticipation. He saw me and his face lit up with a brilliant smile. Moving towards each other, we closed the gap fairly quickly, stopping with about two feet left between us. The attraction fairly snapped in the air, it was so intense. We stood that way for several beats, just looking at each other, before he dropped his bag on the floor and launched himself into my arms. And then...bliss. His lips met mine and I could have cried with relief at how good and how right it felt to have him in my arms. His soft full mouth caressed mine once, twice, a third time, before he tucked his face into the side of my neck. We held each other like that for a few moments, stepping apart after I whispered to him that we were drawing looks. _

_We had our weekend together and it was a turning point for me, for my life. Acerbity had almost become a disease with me since I'd realized there was no hope with Ashton, but when I was with Jacey I didn't feel that bitterness. He made it so damn easy to feel something close to happiness. I could be unreserved with him. He would listen to me without judgment, sometimes disagreeing but always in his gentle way. And the sex was mind-blowing – as good or better than what I remembered from Austin. I hadn't been celibate in the interim and I don't know if Jacey was. I didn't ask; it didn't matter. He was the same responsive, passionate boy. After such a long time of feeling that I was out the cold, I was irresistibly drawn to his warmth._

_When we parted at the end of that weekend, we promised each other we wouldn't let three months go by again without talking to each other. We now had each other's various phone numbers, email addresses, Skype and so forth. What's more, we had an understanding: without being exclusive, we would try to get together as often as possible. I knew it would be easier if I got the job in Chicago – the flight was neither as long nor as expensive as it would be to Seattle. One way or the other, though, I knew it would happen. I knew we'd see each other. This thing between us wasn't just some booty call. It was more than sex. It was the connection we had – the comfort of being together, the rightness of it. If it never developed beyond what we had now, it would still be an intensely intimate experience every time I was with him._

My last thoughts before I finally fall asleep are of Jacey, how the last time I was at a hotel in Chicago he was with me, tangled up in my arms.

-o-

The next morning I'm up early. I shower, dress and have breakfast, and I'm at the apartment by eight. The movers arrive about twenty minutes later; and before noon, all my furniture and boxes have been moved in and the movers have already gone on to their next delivery. I work pretty steadily for several hours, unpacking the kitchen first; then the bathroom essentials and my clothes. As the afternoon wears on, I realize I'm starving, having ignored lunch altogether. I throw on my coat and boots and head out into the bright, cold winter day.

When I was looking for apartments, I found others that were just as nice as this one; some were a bit closer to the L, Chicago's elevated train; some had a bit more space or a small second bedroom. One of the main features that sold me on this particular apartment was its proximity to a fantastic vegetarian restaurant, Chicago Diner. I was lacto-ovo vegetarian as a teenager and recommitted to it after I finished college. Recently I added the occasional meal of fish or shellfish – having developed a taste for it when I lived in Boston – but for the most part I've stayed lacto-ovo. It's challenging, though, since I don't particularly like to cook, and decent takeout vegetarian isn't available everywhere. Knowing that the Diner was half a block from my place sealed it. I saw myself walking home from the L, stopping in to pick up my dinner and then relaxing at home with it.

After a dinner of the most amazing avocado tostadas, I ask for their takeout menu, and make my way home again. I know tomorrow I'll have to do some grocery shopping, but for tonight I just want to go home and relax…and call Jacey.

Jacey helped me find this apartment the weekend we were here in Chicago together. I realized that weekend what a great eye he has for detail – naturally, he's pursuing a Fine Arts degree in Design – and he was enthralled with the scrollwork around the front door of the building. I liked it too, of course, but was rather more concerned about the concrete details – the apartment itself, the fact that I could walk to the L in about ten minutes which would take me straight down to my office building, and the building's proximity to other 'neighborhood amenities'. As I now walk back to the apartment, though, I realize how many trees line my street and that it will be really beautiful in the summer.

Overall, I'm feeling less alone today. I know I'm living in a vibrant neighborhood, next week I'll start my new job and possibly prove to myself that I can make friends even without Ashton's help, and I'll have Jacey in my life by phone, email and as many visits as we can steal away.

For the first time in a long time, I feel hope.

-o-

**Ohhh – had to steal that line! One of the few lines my ****bb Jasper was actually given in the books, and I just handed it off to our Jack. **

**Hope you enjoyed this peek at Jack's transition from Seattle to Chicago, as well how he and Jacey found each other again. I'm writing a Deep Dish outtake for the Friday Free-For-All, of Jack and Jacey's weekend in Chicago; it won't be up till December 4****th****, though! **

**My blog continues to be the place for me to share songs, inspiration, news and other goodies. I want to share with you all, though, that I am co-hosting a writing contest called When Love Was New. Check it out at www dot fanfiction dot com / ~whenlovewasnew . We've got some great entries so far; and the entry deadline is coming up fast - November 6 is the last day to send submissions!**


	2. Chapter 2

**Thanks****so much to everyone who read and reviewed Chapter 1! It warms my heart that you're already invested in these original characters. ****I****know I'm a day early posting the update. It's ready and I see no merit in waiting. :D **

**After****you read the update, please****check****out my closing a/n for important information about The Fandom Gives Back! :)**

-o-

_Jack_

I have to admit to being excited.

Most people who've met me would say that I simply don't get worked up about anything, and outwardly at least, that's often true. I'm reserved. I'm not unfriendly – usually – but I'm just not prone to displays of emotion. I'm also not much for chitchat, particularly among my work colleagues; I'm very big on keeping work and home separate. When I'm at work, I need to be completely engaged in what I'm doing.

Of course, the ones who truly _know_ me would argue something along the lines of "still waters run deep" – a description Kathleen actually used about me once, to my utter mortification (it might not have been so bad if the discussion hadn't taken place in my presence). hey know I feel deeply, that I'm tremendously loyal to the few whom I call friends. They know that I draw a definite distinction between friends and acquaintances – and if they know about the distinction, they are keenly aware that they fall on the side of "friend". And they know that, sometimes, something comes along that is interesting and different enough for me to actually become excited about it.

Right now, I can't deny that what I'm feeling can only be described as excitement. It's Friday morning, and I'm getting ready to take the train downtown for the first time, to get a sense of how long my ride to work will be, familiarize myself with the area surrounding my office building, that sort of thing. I want to do it this morning – despite the fact that it's fucking freezing today – because I'm not in a rush. I don't have to be anywhere, I won't be running late for anything. Briefly I consider bringing along a box of stuff for my office, to get started organizing it, but ultimately decide against it for a couple of reasons. For one thing, I don't want to lug around a box when I'm supposed to be figuring out how long it would take me to walk to the train station or move around downtown. Second, I'm not positive that the office is ready for me. My predecessor was let go a couple of weeks ago and they've been making do without someone in that position, as I understand it, but that doesn't mean the physical space is ready to go.

I check the thermometer outside my front window one more time before putting on my winter boots, coat, mittens and even a warm winter hat. I have a walk of several blocks from my apartment to the L station, and the way the wind blows off the lake, I don't want to be frostbitten before I get to the station.

Stepping outside, I'm nearly blinded by the glare of the sun sparkling off the high snow banks that flank the street. I pull my sunglasses out of my breast pocket, my face relaxing out of the deep squint once they're on. It takes me a little more than ten minutes to walk to Belmont Station. The wind is at my back most of the way, but I realize I'm going to have to invest in a pair of long underwear. Perhaps I can get away with not wearing them this winter, since February is nearly over - I'll be optimistic about an early spring this year. As I walk I pass local businesses, making note of ones I will want or need to visit at some point. Steamworks, a fitness club and bath house, and Spin, a night club, are both places Edward mentioned.

_He pulled me aside privately one night after a group of us had gone out for dinner, and told me about Steamworks, that it was reasonably upscale and clean as the baths go. After checking over his shoulder to see that Jasper was engaged in conversation on the other side of the room, he quietly told me about Spin, which he said was similar to the club by the same name that we frequented in Seattle. I thanked him, but couldn't help asking why he was being so furtive. He glanced over his shoulder again and said, "Last time I was there was when Jasper and I split up. I did something I'm not proud of." He paused, swallowing with a pained expression. "Jasper knows what I did - it's not a secret. But confessing it to him brought him a great deal of pain, and there's no need to remind him of it." _

_I nodded sympathetically. They were newlyweds, and as happy as anyone I'd ever met, but I knew it had cost them each a great deal to get to that place. Having known Edward by reputation before his relationship with Jasper, I was constantly impressed and pleased by the tremendous changes that had come about in his life. He truly cherished Jasper. There was nothing he wouldn't do to make sure he was happy, secure and content, and to protect their marriage._

By the time I'm passing the Jamba Juice on Belmont, I'm feeling a little homesick for my friends back in Seattle. I try to force my mind back into the present, making mental notes of the pharmacy, several restaurants I'm interested in trying, a dentist's office that looks convenient, and then I'm at the stairs that take me up to the station. Standing on the freezing, exposed station platform, I curse silently and wish that Chicago just had underground trains.

_Think warmth_, I tell myself. Sunshine and summer days; the baseball games I'll go to at Wrigley Field. Maybe I'll take Jacey to a Cubs game…mmm, Jacey. As soon as Jacey's face is in my head, I'm taken away from the biting wind and the clear, dry cold day, back to when I called him a few nights ago after I got home from dinner. The memory of the phone call floods me with warmth – among other things.

_I texted him from my hotel Sunday night, to let him know I'd arrived safely. I waited until Monday night to call him, though, knowing that he planned to work on an assignment Sunday night._

_When he answered, I said, "Hey, sweet boy."_

"_Hey yourself!" was his enthusiastic reply. I could hear the smile in his voice._

"_Not interrupting, am I?" I asked._

"_You are, actually," he replied. "You interrupted an evening of sitting and waiting impatiently for the phone to ring." I laughed and he added, "And so I thank you."_

"_Happy to help," I grinned. "And happy to hear your voice. It's been a couple of weeks."_

"_I know," he sighed. "Last time I talked to you was just before the wedding." He paused before continuing somewhat cautiously. "I know your email said it went okay. How are you?"_

_The weekend I'd met him in Chicago, I'd opened up to him a bit about what prompted my decision to leave Seattle. He was very sympathetic, and it was a real catharsis for me to be able to speak openly about it without judgment. He understood, therefore, that it wasn't just the wedding of a friend. He had texted me a couple of times throughout that day letting me know he was thinking of me. It meant a lot._

"_I'm okay," I said. "I just decided I needed to be there for Ashton and be happy. It was the last time I saw my close friends anyways, so I spent a lot of time talking to them, saying goodbye, promising to visit, that sort of thing."_

"_Mm-hmm," he murmured, inviting me to continue to talk about it if I wanted, or to change the subject. He never pried – he just listened. I didn't tell him about Ashton and me becoming teary when we said goodbye; I didn't tell him that I went home and slept for two days after the wedding. The emotional drain of it had shredded me._

_Instead I told him about my trip, about driving through the mountains across the north of Idaho and into Montana, and the snowstorm in Minnesota that was the scariest thing I've ever driven through. I'm no stranger to snow, having gone to school at Harvard - four years in Boston will give anyone a crash course in Nor'Easters. Being used to something, however, and liking it are two different things. I told him about the motels I stayed at, the tiny towns along the way. Stopping to try to find someplace to eat where I could get something simple like a grilled cheese sandwich and soup – something hearty without meat. He laughed at my experience at a diner in Bismarck, North Dakota, where the older waitress, at least in her late 50s, clucked her tongue when she heard I was driving 2,000 miles in 3 days. She'd sent me on my way with a thermos of coffee – who knows whose thermos it was, but they didn't get it back – and some cookies, muffins, fruit and some cubes of cheese. She refused to let me pay, insisting that she was taking care of me as my mother would do if I wasn't so far from home. I thanked her and gave her a kiss on the cheek before leaving. I took the address of the diner and planned to send her a note of thanks once I arrived in Chicago. _

_After I gave Jacey the highlights of my trip, he told me what was going on at school, and I told him a few things about my apartment he couldn't remember. When a moment of silence found its way into our conversation, he said, "God, Jack; I miss you. It's been, what, a little over a month? It feels like ages."_

"_I know," I replied. "When I was at the wedding and I kept getting those little texts from you, I wished you were there." _

_He fell silent, and I wondered what he was thinking about. I wanted to ask him something, but was debating with myself if it was the right thing to do, whether it was too soon or if he'd feel obliged. I decided to bring it up as casually as I could manage. "So…spring break must be coming up for you pretty soon."_

"_Three weeks," he replied. When it became clear he wasn't going to offer any more information than that, I continued. _

"_Are you going anywhere?"_

"_Um…well, a couple of my housemates are going to Galveston. I'm supposed to go with them…" He hesitated._

"_But…?" I prompted._

"_I'm not sure if I really want to," he concluded. Again he fell silent, offering me nothing else which I could use as a stepping stone to my question._

"_So what will you do if you don't go?" I asked._

"_I don't know – just hang around here, I guess. Work on assignments."_

"_On Spring Break?" I asked incredulously. "You'd choose that over going to Galveston?"_

_He sighed. "My housemates are all straight, Jack. They know I'm gay and no one cares, but they all spend the entire week completely hammered, making crude comments about the girls that are there. Or they're fucking them. So, yeah – I'd choose staying in Austin, over that."_

_I closed my eyes, took a breath, and hurled myself out onto a limb. "Would you choose staying in Austin over coming to stay with me in Chicago?" I asked. There was silence at the other end of the line and I cringed before asking, "Jacey? You there?"_

"_I'm here," was his quiet reply. "Really, Jack? You want me to come to Chicago?"_

"_Well…I'll be working, so if you came you wouldn't see me during the day. Of course, that'd give you time to work on those __**assignments**__." He laughed. "Or explore the city on your own. And then at night…we can have dinner, go out if you want to…stay in if you want to…" I ended suggestively. _

"_Mmm," he murmured. "It does sound good…Are you sure, though? You told me you don't normally make plans during the week because of your job."_

"_This is more than just making plans with someone who lives in the same city," I told him. "This is having you here, staying with me, for an entire week." I paused for a minute before adding, "I really want you to come, Jacey."_

_I heard a quick intake of breath. "I do too." _

"_So?" I prompted._

"_Let's do it," he replied, suddenly confident. _

It's difficult to hide the smile on my face as I stand on the platform. He'll be arriving two weeks from tomorrow, and I feel impatient for it already – which is not me. Even when I'm planning a trip away somewhere, of course I look forward to it, but my life tends to be so busy that I have lots to keep me busy until the appointed time arrives. Impatience certainly isn't my style; I generally take the approach that getting impatient won't speed things up. While I was looking forward to my trip to Chicago for the interview, I was simply keen to go until my plans with Jacey materialized, and then it couldn't happen fast enough. It's the same now – I feel keyed up already and I still have two weeks to wait.

The train arrives and I step on, realizing I'll be standing for a while. Being rush hour, the cars are already quite full. The ride downtown is interesting. When I was going to Harvard, I took the T, Boston's subway system, quite a bit to get around the city – at least for the first few years until Ashton got a car – and it's efficient travel, but pretty boring. Here in Chicago, at least there's something to look at outside the windows instead of pitch black and dank subway stations. The city flashes by. At each stop I have to brace my feet against the floor and grip the bar as we slow down, and then again as we speed up.

In about twenty minutes I'm downtown, amid a throng of people who surge out of the train when the doors open. I hang back from the stairs for a moment, letting those who are in a hurry go ahead before I make my way down to street level. On the street I get my bearings, then head in the direction of the building. It's just a couple of blocks away from the station, about a five minute walk. As I walk I look around to find out where the nearest and most convenient parking is. I know I'll usually take the train, but I'm planning to drive on Monday with my office accessories, and I want this opportunity when I'm not in a rush to figure out where everything is and get the lay of the land ahead of time. I have enough risk in my job just in playing with people's money, that in my day-to-day life I plan as much in advance as I can. When I was here for my interview a month ago, I was too absorbed in what lay ahead to pay much attention to the surroundings.

I walk past the office building where I'll be working and continue down the street, taking note of the restaurants and ATMs in the area. After walking around downtown for fifteen minutes or so, I decide to duck into a Starbucks for a coffee and to warm up.

In the store I order a skinny cinnamon latte and a blueberry bar, and sit at one of the tables in the window to watch the city go by. I'm going to enjoy the time I have to myself before I start work on Monday. Since I got my first full-time job...actually, no, earlier than that. Since I started college I've worked hard, but I've also made certain to thoroughly enjoy my downtime, because it's a precious commodity. The bit of travelling I've done, the skiing Ashton and I used to do, visits home to Fresno to see my parents and my brothers…those things are my restorative tonic. Too many people go constantly until they burn out. I always try to remind myself to take time to recharge.

This time, my "battery charger" will be coming to me. I can't say it'll honestly be relaxing; but good for the soul, at least. Jacey's gentle presence makes me breathe easy…except when he makes my heart pound.

I finish up my coffee, head back to the station and return home on the train. The uptown train is much less crowded, and I sit in the morning sun looking out toward Lake Michigan. I could almost doze off in the warm sun, never mind the latte I just finished. My walk back to the apartment from Belmont Station is pleasant, and I arrive home feeling prepared for my first day on Monday. I've unpacked almost everything for the apartment now. I wanted to have it all done before I started work so I wouldn't have to do it next week when I start the new job. I have just a few last things to unwrap – the few decorative items I keep, and the kitchen things I don't use often, like wine glasses. By noon it's done, and my apartment looks like I could have been here months already, instead of just a few days. I can relax now and enjoy the rest of the weekend.

I decide to flip open my laptop and check my email. There was no reason to change my home email address with the move since it's a Gmail account. I have one from Jasper. I grin as I read about how he has decided to go back to school for his Master's degree, something we all encouraged him to do. They miss me already, he says, and they hope I'm keeping warm. Jasper was somewhat horrified by my decision to move to the Midwest – he's only ever lived in Seattle, Texas and California, so 'the land of ice and snow', as he called it, seemed extreme. I had to remind him that I'd lived in Boston during college, and if I could survive that, I'd survive anything.

As I'm reading, a notification pops into the bottom corner of my screen: "New message from Ashton Byrne." My heart jumps to my throat, and almost immediately I curse my reaction. _Damn it – get a grip! It's just an email._ I click to open it, and it's a reply to my "I made it" email:

_Hey bro! Glad to hear you arrived safely and that your trip was uneventful, aside from the inevitable snowstorm. Just programmed your new cell number into my phone. Commence texting. :)_

_We're home too – got back late last night and we have a few days to recuperate before we both head back to work on Monday. The trip was great - Hawaii is beautiful. Surfing is unbelievable! You have to go sometime, Jack – I paddled out almost every day. I even got Kathleen up on a board before we came home. She was nervous at first but once she got the hang of it she had a blast._

_It's hard to believe it's been almost two weeks since I talked to you – I don't think that much time ever gone by without us being in contact __**somehow**__ since the day we met. Let's not make a habit of it, okay? Just because you're – let me count – seven states away doesn't mean we have to become strangers. I'm about to get mushy, Jack - I can almost see you squirming with embarrassment as you read this. Heh. But I want to thank you for everything – for being my best man, and my best friend. I couldn't have gotten married without you by my side. It's been you and me, bro, since that day in freshman year. I know life happens and things change, but one thing will never change – you're the best friend I've ever had. I wanted to tell you this in my speech at the wedding, but I knew I wouldn't be able to say it without getting emotional – and I wouldn't put you on the spot like that, not in front of everyone. I'll save it for email. ;)_

_Anyway, I'm glad you're well. Send us some pics of your new apartment when you have time. I'm going to attach a couple of photos I took on the beach – seriously, bro, swells like you've never seen._

_Talk to you soon,_

_Ashton_

The photos he sent are beautiful, as he said. I save them to my hard drive, then reread the email at least five times before moving it into the "Keepers" folder. After that, I'm no longer in the mood read my other emails. I feel listless. The positive mood I've preserved all week has suddenly evaporated. I snap my laptop closed in frustration; am I going to be all sappy and emo every fucking time Ashton sends me an email or a text? What the fuck can I expect if I actually speak to him?

I need to do something to take my mind off of it. My unpacking is already done, though. Normally the best way for me to get out my frustration is exercise. I haven't gotten a gym membership yet since arriving – no time like the present. There's a club on North Halsted, about three blocks from here; I passed it on my way to and from the L. I dress again for the cold and a few minutes later I'm at the club. At the front counter I'm greeted by a pleasant young man who summons the sales manager to give me a tour of the club. In under an hour I'm a registered member and I return home to grab my gymbag.

By the time I've worked out, taken advantage of the Jacuzzi and showered, I feel better. Not only was I checked out by at least five guys while I was working out, but just the general feeling of well-being that the endorphins have given me, have combined to lift some of the gloom. I leave the club with an idea brewing - it _is_ Friday night, after all. I've been here nearly a week – I think it's time to partake of some of the neighborhood nightlife.

Which is why, shortly after 11:30 p.m., I leave my apartment to walk to Spin. It's cold, but I refuse to either take a taxi or drive to a club that's five blocks away. This is, after all, why I chose this neighborhood: the amenities.

After a brisk walk, I arrive at the club. Even standing outside the blackened glass windows, the bass line of the music rattles the walls. The doorman signals me to go in, and I step through the deep-set, arched doorway, into what I hope may be an entertaining – and enjoyable – evening.

Inside, the club is actually quite nice. Many of the walls have been taken back to the original brick, the exposed steel girders painted red. The décor is understated and reasonably elegant, with black leather settees lining the walls. I check my coat and move slowly through the crowds, attempting to take in the club without being obvious about it. The posters in the front hall of the club advertise tonight's events as a "Friday Nite Dance Party", which appeals to me, and a "Shower Contest", which does _not_. That shit has always made me roll my eyes, even when I was a teenager. At least tonight is for boys – elsewhere in the club I see ads for an upcoming Girl Shower Contest and one for bears on another night. Oh well; at least everyone gets some representation.

The dance floor is downstairs. At the bar I order a couple of tequila shots. After tossing back the first one, I grab the second and move closer to the dance floor. A quick scan of the room tells me that at least six or seven boys are staring at me. I don't imagine I'll have any shortage of dance partners tonight. Several of the boys smile – some hesitant, some confident – and I return each smile, with the genuine optimism I'm feeling. Each of the boys watching me can see me smile at the other ones; in my head I extend a silent challenge. _Come on – who's going to be the first one to risk it?_

-o-

**I****swear on Jacey's sweet lips that when I wrote OTT, I had no idea there was a gay club named Spin in Chicago. It was the name of a short-lived restaurant where I used to live, and I always liked it. When ****people****found out****Jack would be in Chicago I had several PMs letting me know this! Apparently, and I'm quoting someone 'in the know', "It's wild". ****We****'****ll****see what ****kind****of local wildlife Jack finds, ****next****chapter! :)**

**The****Fandom Gives Back auction takes place November 15 – 20, 2009. I am pleased to be ****in****the very glad company of authors who are donating their time and talents to ****raise****research dollars for Alex's Lemonade. For information and to view the auction forums, please visit www dot thefandomgivesback dot com. There is a link for the forums. ****Also****up for auction are****some autographed Twilight swag and, announced just tonight, two tickets to a 100 Monkeys concert with a meet & greet afterwards with the band! **


	3. Chapter 3

**Happy Th****anksgiving, American readers! :)**

**The Fandom Gives Back auction took place last week. The goal was $10,000. The fandom not only exceeded that goal – we obliterated it, raising $87,000 for Alex's Lemonade. Can you say **_**astounded? **_** Thank you so much to Christina, Nina and Lola who conceived and organized the event, and to every single individual who moderated, donated, volunteered their story-writing, betaing and handicrafting skills, blogged, and tweeted to help get the word out. This group – these people that make up the Twilight fanfiction world – are an amazing, generous group of women and men. **

**When last we saw our bb Jack, he was eyeing up some cutie-patooties at the club. Let's see what happens next! **

-o-

_Jack_

I throw back the shot I'm holding and turn back to the bar, signaling the bartender that I'd like another two shots. I decide to remain with my back towards the boys I've made eye contact with and let it unfold, whatever "it" is. I hope to soon get a signal that one of the interested boys has approached me – a hand on my back, a presence at my side, or…

…a voice in my ear. "You look like you stepped out of a movie from the 40s," it says. Definitely not a pickup line I've heard before, and I have to give props for creativity. I turn to the voice to find a boy, my height, with pale blond hair and blue eyes, standing close by my side. "I was thinking Cary Grant," he adds before giving me a smile.

"Thanks," I reply, feeling pretty good about myself. Cary Grant is one of my favorite actors from that era. I return the boy's smile as I step back a bit to examine him.

He's hot, that's for sure; his short hair is sculpted into a fauxhawk and he has a silver hoop through the center of his bottom lip. I don't have any piercings myself – I'm a bit straight-arrow when it comes to that stuff – but on others, labret piercings have always driven me insane. This one doesn't have the bead that so many do, just that tiny hoop. He's wearing a tight white t-shirt and military-style khaki pants. His poise and bearing are very attractive; he seems like he has a healthy self-confidence level, without cockiness.

As I take him in, the bartender brings my shots, and the boy asks him for a vodka cooler. When the bartender leaves, the boy turns back to me and says, "I'm Karl."

"Jack," I reply, shaking his offered hand.

"Good to meet you, Jack," he continues. I don't think I've seen you here before.

"Nobody has," I confirm. "I just moved to Chicago."

"Really? Where from?" he asks.

"Seattle."

"Cool," he says as the bartender brings his drink. I turn to face him, leaning my elbow against the bar. His lips still on the mouth of the bottle, his eyebrows rise slightly and a smile plays around his eyes. He lowers the bottle, and slowly his tongue comes out to catch a drop of liquid on his top lip, his eyes never leaving me.

I watch the tip of his tongue gradually trace a circuit around the inner edge of his lips, then he slowly and deliberately smacks his lips. I set my empty shot glass on the bar and step closer to him, our bodies so close that our groins nearly touch. "Do you dance, Karl?" I ask.

He smiles. "I _also _dance," he replies meaningfully. I slip my hand around his low back and start to move through the crowd, gently guiding him towards the dance floor. The DJ is playing a song I haven't heard since high school. When we find a spot on the floor, Karl turns to me, placing his hands on either side of my waist. "I love this song," he says, starting to swing his slim hips to the beat. I grab them, matching his rhythm. He's a good dancer, and I know he's enjoying the attention we're receiving as he's the first person to dance with the "fresh meat".

This place is packed, especially here on the dance floor, and the crush of people is making me feel overheated. I reach to grab the hem of my shirt and quickly pull it off, tucking it into the side of my pants.

Karl's reaction to my bare chest is swift and decided – he follows suit immediately. His chest is broad and defined, his strong shoulders a perfect foil for his slim hips.

"Nice," I say into his ear, smiling appreciatively.

"I'm a swimmer," he replies, grabbing my hand. He lifts it over my head and twirls me slowly around, his eyes taking in everything till I've completed a full revolution. Still holding my hand he wraps our linked arms around his back so we're standing close to each other.

"I thought I knew all the Hugo Boss models," he says. I toss my head back and laugh heartily. It feels good to feel so normal, to be around people again and flirt and act like a typical single gay man. It's been too easy this week to hibernate, hide away from the world.

Karl joins my laughter, resuming his swaying grind to the pulsing bass that vibrates the floor under our feet. Fortunately I've never been self-conscious, or else I'd be dying right now. I can see, from simply glancing us around as we dance, that many eyes are checking us out. It's not egotism – it's simply a fact of life in this bizarre little microcosm of society. Some approach, hoping to cut in; I deflect them as I always do interruptions, by ignoring them; this time however I make a mental note of a few I'll want to look for next time.

Karl clearly appreciates my focus, because he steps up his game, turning his back t me and grinding his ass against my cock. "Fuck," I curse, grabbing his hips and pulling him closer, seeking greater pressure. He slides his ass up and down my length a few times; he has me grunting. I can't help grabbing a handful of his ass cheek and squeezing – it's amazing, muscular and firm. If he thinks I should be modeling Boss, he should be doing underwear ads for Calvin Klein.

He turns again to face me and hooks his arms around my neck. I lightly guide my hands over the muscles of his naked back, feeling them ripple with each gyration of his smooth body. I can feel the hard length of his cock pressing against mine.

"Jack," he says in my ear, "I want you to fuck me."

I run my hand over his blond hair, feeling the soft spikes of his fauxhawk. "Where do you live?" I ask.

-o-

His place is literally a block away, on Halsted. It's a small apartment, which Karl laughingly calls a one-bedroom; but he lives alone, he says, so it has enough room for him.

After we remove our coats, I gaze at him, waiting for him to make a move. He slowly pulls off his shirt and I mirror his actions. Our mutual striptease continues with our belts and pants till we're in our briefs. What he's wearing can't actually be called briefs – he's wearing a black jock strap. I step closer and run my finger under the waistband, dipping downward at the front pouch. My fingertip grazes the side of his cock, then his balls. His body tenses and his eyes close. I bring my other hand to do the same thing on the other side; my fingertips eventually meet under his cock. A quiet hiss escapes him when, with the pads of my index fingers, I stroke down the underside of his prick. He reaches up to place both his hands on my shoulders, steadying himself.

I tickle under the head with all my fingertips and he giggles a bit. "Feels like a little octopus in my jock," he grins.

"Hmmm – how about this, then?" I retort, and drop to my knees, quickly yanking the jock down to the ankles. Immediately I engulf his cock with my mouth. His hands, still on my shoulders, grip tightly. He breathes heavily, little moans on each exhale. I don't blow him gently or tenderly – it's deep, intense, sucking hard and gripping his cock tight. The small moans escalate quickly into wails. When he gasps that he's going to come, I release his cock from my mouth and let his hot jizz paint my bare chest as it jets out of him. His orgasm is both loud and messy; when he's finished he bends down to give me a kiss. I bow my head and he gets the top of my head. I don't kiss hookups…at least, very seldom.

He pulls me to my feet, and for some reason my mood has shifted. I still want ot get off but I just want to hurry up – get off and get out. He's still blissful on his endorphin wave and isn't picking up on my change of mood; or maybe he just doesn't know me well enough to see it. Regardless he again tries to kiss me. I pull away, telling him, "Kneel on the couch."

He looks surprised and perhaps a bit snubbed at the rebuff, but says nothing and crosses the room to the couch and does what I ask. He braces his hands against the back of the couch, kneeling on the seat. Without a word, I drop my briefs, roll on a condom and lube his ass. My cock against him, I pause as I always do, to make sure he's ready.

"Yeah," he sighs. "Give it to me hard."

_You got it,_ I think, and after breaching the initial resistance, I push into him, my thighs slapping his ass as they meet. He cries out – I can't distinguish it as a cry of pleasure or discomfort.

"Too hard?" I ask, a twinge of guilt at slamming into him, even though he asked for it.

"It's okay," he pants. "Just gimme a sec to adjust." _It was too much. _ Silently I curse myself for letting my weird funk distract me from taking my usual care. I never enter someone like that – I always go slowly, I always make sure they've adjusted first, regardless of how hard I fuck them later.

Karl rests his head on his forearms on the back of the couch. Guiltily I reach up to strike the back of his head. "I'm sorry," I mumble. He doesn't reply. Finally he lifts his head and exhales and I apologize again. "I'm really sorry."

He shakes his head. "It's okay. I didn't get a look at you – you're bigger than I realized." He grins over his shoulder at me. "Next time I'll look before I ask someone to leap."

"You're really okay?" I ask, needing to be absolutely certain before I continue.

In answer he curls his pelvis forward slightly, pulling away, then pushes back into me. He sighs as he does, so deeply it's nearly a growl. "I'm really okay," he replies. To punctuate his point he squeezes his ass cheeks a few times, clamping around me.

Slowly and steadily I rock in and out of him, making myself pay closer attention to his experience, reminding myself that it's not all about me. This time when he lies his head on the back of the couch, it's to relax into the experience and enjoy it. I maintain my steady pace until he reaches behind me, pulling me harder against him. I push deep and he groans a soft, "Yeah…uhh…yeah…," encouraging me to pick up speed. His right hand disappears beneath him to play with his cock. As he does, his vocalizations grow louder and more insistent.

"I'm close," I bark out hoarsely.

"Then come," he cries. "Come with me."

Thrusting deeply I spill my load. Karl goes to pieces beneath me, bucking and meeting my thrusts. Again his orgasm is noisy, whereas I peak and ride out my release silently. As soon as the last pulse has subsided, I grasp the condom and pull out.

Karl is still on the couch, breathing noisily through the last vestiges of his raptures, when I pull on my underwear and pants. He finally opens his eyes when he hears my zipper.

"Wow," he whooshes. "You're amazing. You suck cock like a Hoover and fuck like a battering ram."

"Great," I reply flatly. "Thanks for the fuck."

"Sure," he replies, getting up off the couch and cleaning up the mess with his pants. "You're welcome to a replay anytime."

"I'll remember that," I return, making an effort not to sound as ungracious as I feel. Karl opens the door for me and tries one last time to kiss me; but I quickly step through the door, saying, "See you around."

Back out on the street, I make my way home. The wind has picked up and I pull a wool ski hat out of my pocket, pulling it down snugly over my ears. My new lined leather gloves keep my hands warm on the walk, but the wind blows right through my pants.

As I walk I ask myself why, in the midst of what should have been a perfectly good hookup, I found myself feeling irritated and out of sorts. Karl did nothing wrong – he had a great body and he was hot and enthusiastic. He wasn't too demanding, wasn't too forward. He didn't blow me, but nor did I give him the option. So what the hell is wrong with me? And how the fuck did I allow myself to hurt him? That's the worst part – I've never hurt anyone, never forced, always been careful and respectful. It's my responsibility as a top to be careful. I can't fucking believe what I did.

By the time I get home I seriously need a drink, despite the shots I had earlier. I crack open a bottle of tequila – a part gift from jasper and Edward – and pour myself a double. I settle onto the couch and flip on the TV. The Late Late Show is on and Craig Ferguson usually has me laughing. Tonight, laughter eludes me; after finishing my drink I just go to bed.

Sunday morning is another bright, cold day. I wake with a throbbing headache, partly from the tequila, partly from the shitty night's sleep I had. I decide to skip the gym today. With breakfast I drink copious amounts of water and a side of Advil. The rest of my weekend is spent puttering around, doing chores and errands to get ready for the week, reading, and familiarizing myself with the history and structure of my new firm. I decide against replying to Ashton's email, instead picking up the phone to call him. I keep it light, expressing envy over the surfing conditions and just generally focusing on superficial things, like my apartment and the new neighborhood.

By Monday morning I've recovered physically from Friday night's debauchery. I still can't think about it, though, without accompanying pants of guilt and a creeping discomfort. Most unsettling is wondering _why_ it all happened. I try to push it to the back of my mind and focus on my first day at the new job.

I drive to work today, a box of my office stuff in the trunk. I have my broker's license, a few awards, my framed Econ degree from Harvard, and my favorite coffee mug. I'm not superstitious…mostly. I only know that my coffee mug is the closest thing to a lucky charm I've ever had. I don't even use it for coffee anymore – it gets a place on my shelf.

I pull into the parking lot underneath my office building. I have my travel coffee mug in one hand and my briefcase in the other, and once I get the trunk open and the box out, it's awkward to try to balance the box while I close the trunk. Just my luck – the box falls and most of the contents go spilling out.

With a deep sigh, I kneel to pick them up, hoping to hell nothing's cracked. I'm checking under my car for my lucky mug when someone steps beside me.

"Let me help you with that," says a friendly male voice.

"Thanks," I reply gratefully, looking up just as the voice's owner kneels beside me.

He's blonde, broad-shouldered and friendly. He picks up several of my awards and places them in the box until something catches his eye.

"You're Jack Charles?" he asks with surprise. He's holding my award from the Seattle Rainbow Connection, a program for youths who have just come out to be mentored by gay men and women.

"I am," I reply. "And you are…?"

"I'm Mike Newton, from Newton, Stanley and Crowley," he says with a pleasant smile. "Once you get settled, you and I are going to be working together quite a bit to figure out the mess Eric Yorkie got your firm into."

"Great," I reply resignedly. I stand up to shake his hand. "It's nice to meet you. And there's one first impression ruined," I add self-effacingly.

He chuckles. "Not at all," he replies before taking my hand. When we're standing face-to-face, he's just an inch taller than me and I have to admit that he's extremely good-looking. Our eyes lock as we shake and I can't help noticing that he holds my hand just a beat longer than is strictly necessary for someone who's meeting a new colleague. His bright blue eyes twinkle with someone for an instant before he drops my hand. "Good to meet you, Jack," he adds.

"Likewise," I smile back.

"The elevators are this way." He gestures down the row of cars. As we walk to the elevator he tells me he's here to meet with the board of directors to update them on the case. I knew about this situation already, of course; it was explained to me at the time that they made the job offer, as they wanted me to have all the information I needed to make an informed decision about working for the firm. "I should leave the rest up to your employers to discuss with you, though," he says as we reach the elevator.

"Yeah, you're probably right," I agree.

"So you're from Seattle, right?" he asks, and I nod. "Mariners fan?"

"Actually, no; I went to school in Boston and became a Red Sox fan while I was there," I admit.

His eyebrows rise. "Boston? Did you go to Harvard?"

"Yeah," I confirm. "Econ '05."

"I did my law degree there," he smiles.

"Are you from the East Coast?"

"No, I'm from here in Chicago, actually," he explains. "My dad's a founding partner at the firm I work for. You?"

"Fresno," I reply.

"California boy," he grins.

The door opens on the 39th floor and I step out, saying, "It was good to meet you. I guess we'll talk again soon."

He smiles a genuinely friendly smile. As the doors close, he says, "I look forward to it."

_Hmmm_, I think. Having to work with him certainly won't be the worst thing in the world. _Thank you, Eric Yorkie. _Wherever you are.

I turn to the glass doors that separate the hall outside the elevator, from the offices. On the other side of the doors a middle-aged woman is waiting expectantly, and she smiles when she sees me.

"Hi," she greets me. "You must be Mr. Charles."

"Jack," I smile, extending my hand.

As she shakes it she introduces herself. "I'm Eleanor Barry. I manage the support staff here at the brokerage."

"Good to meet you," I reply.

"Andrew is on a conference call right now," she explains, referring to my direct supervisor. "He asked me to show you to your office and then take you down to HR to get your paperwork looked after. By the time we're finished Andrew should be free, and he'll give you the grand tour."

"Sounds great," I reply gratefully.

"Your office is this way." She gestures for me to follow her and as we pass a series of cubicles she asks a few pleasant questions about how I'm settling in to Chicago life. In my office I set my box of stuff on the desk to unpack and arrange it later, then follow her up a couple of floors to the Human Resources department.

-o-

By the end of the day, I've gotten a tour of the entire office, spanning four floors of the large office building. I've met the rest of the management team, as well as the support staff and some of the brokers. My office is now situated and workable; and by some miracle, IT has my office computer fully functional, operating exactly as it should be. My supervisor, Andrew, is friendly and helpful; my fellow brokers have shared with me that he is an excellent supervisor who wants his brokers to succeed and works hard to make sure that happens. Overall, I feel positive about the company and my coworkers. This was a good move, and I can't wait to get working again.

Amid all the positive aspects of the day, one non-work-related golden moment shines – the moment mid-morning when I feel my phone buzz in my pocket and open it to see a text from Jacey. Just a simple message: _Good luck on your first day, Cracker Jack. I'm thinking about you. –Jacey _ It makes me grin when I first read it, and every time I reread it or think about it throughout the day.

At home, after my dinner of a seitan gyro and sweet potato fries, I pick up my phone and call home to my parents'…that is, my mom's place. I wince with the mental correction – I still do, every time I think of home, because my dad doesn't live there anymore.

My father, John Charles, passed away very suddenly, about nine months ago. He was much too young, and a brain aneurysm took him in an instant. The day I lost him was the worst day of my life. Seeing my mom wonder what she would do without her husband; watching my grandmother, Dad's mom, look absolutely lost as she attempted to comprehend that she had outlived her child; trying to comfort my younger brothers while my own heart was being torn into pieces…we all relied on each other heavily and brought each other through it, but it was awful. It was the only time I've seriously considered returning to California since leaving there when I finished high school.

My mom, Laura, lives alone now that my youngest brother has gone to college. After Dad passed away, Sean announced that, in order to stay closer to Mom, he would accept the offer he'd received from CalTech instead of going to MIT as he'd planned. Mom insisted that he continue with his original plans, not wanting him to regret a decision that was made in haste and in grief. At the time I'd thought Sean's offer was a very reasonable one – CalTech's Chemical Engineering program would open nearly as many doors for him as MIT's would – but in retrospect I realize Mom was right. Sean had dreamed of going to MIT for as long as we could remember; when he found out he was accepted, Dad was so proud he couldn't sleep all that night. All three of us are smart guys and we've all done well in school, but we admit that Sean is something pretty extraordinary. MIT is where he should be.

My middle brother, Aaron, is in his final year of an applied math program at Brown; next year he'll stay there to do a graduate degree in biostatistics. The interesting thing about Aaron is that, in spite of being a self-proclaimed math geek, he's also very creative and artistic. He plays the guitar and sings. When Dad died, Aaron wrote a song and then sang and played it at the funeral, four days later. He's the most like Mom in personality; Sean and I are both much more like Dad.

So with all three of her sons in different parts of the country, Mom is on her own. She hasn't worked since I was born; and even now with Dad gone, she is well-taken care of by his life insurance. Though I'm glad she doesn't have to worry about money, sometimes I wish she did have a job to go to – something that would give her a reason to get up and leave the house every day. Mom's entire adult life has been about taking care of the men in her life. She's still very young and healthy. It makes me so angry that now, at the time of her life when she and Dad should be enjoying their new freedom as empty-nesters, she is instead learning how to be a widow.

When she answers, she sounds tired and worn. As soon as she hears my voice, though, she perks up. "Jackie!" she exclaims. "I've been wondering about you all day. How was your first day at the new job?"

"It was great, Mom," I smile, beginning a detailed description of my office, coworkers and the downtown building where I work. Mom always wants to know all the details, and she retains them, too, like a steel trap. After I've given her as much detail as I can, she asks, "So, meet anyone interesting?"

"Mom," I sigh in mock exasperation, though I know she's teasing. "It was my first day – I wasn't scouting for a boyfriend. Give me at least a week, okay?"

She chuckles and it's such a welcome sound – not only because she so seldom laughs anymore but also because she has such a lovely laugh. "Well, okay then," she plays along. "I'll expect to hear from you Friday night." She pauses before continuing, "So…we haven't talked about the wedding." She's bringing it up sensitively, knowing it's a difficult subject. Though I've never come out and told her that I have feelings for Ashton, it's all but acknowledged between us. "I talked to Kay last weekend and she said it was lovely. She emailed me some pictures." Kay and David Byrne, Ashton's parents, have been good friends with my parents since they met through Ashton and me, the summer after freshman year in college when we were both home in California. Mom was invited to Ashton and Kathleen's wedding, of course, but decided it was too soon for her. "You looked so handsome in your suit, Jackie. Ashton too. Kathleen is a lovely looking woman."

"She loves Ashton," I reply, "and he's crazy about her. They're very well suited in temperament – I'm sure they'll be very happy."

"It's very gracious of you to say so," she replies softly.

I squirm uncomfortably, feeling a little embarrassed by the conversation. "Why don't you fly down to Malibu to visit Kay and David?" I suggest.

"Oh, dear, you know how busy Kay is," Mom dismisses. "She volunteers at one place or another almost every day of the week. Oh, speaking of volunteering, I went to your old elementary school on Thursday and signed up to help first graders with reading."

"Really? Mom, that's great!" I exclaim. "How often will you be going?"

"Two mornings a week," she replies.

"I'm so glad. Good for you," I encourage. "I worry about you, cocooning yourself in the house every day; I'm glad you have a reason to get out into the world."

"Well, we'll see how it goes," she hedges. "It's been a long time since I had a first grader; I'm sure they have different methods of teaching now."

I scoff. "Mom, all the letters still make the same sounds they did twenty years ago. I'm sure you'll be great, and the kids will love you."

"Well, thank you, dear," she replies. I can hear the smile in her voice. I know she'll do a kickass job; what's more, I'm sure _she_ knows it too. Even if she is a little rusty, she has a natural affinity for dealing with kids on an age-appropriate level. She'll love it.

After chatting for a few more minutes, we say goodbye with promises to talk again on the weekend. I hang up the phone encouraged by how she sounds – she's sounding as good as or better than any other time since losing Dad. I am relieved and happy, and it only adds to my good mood.

There's only one more thing I need to make my day complete, and that's to talk to Jacey. Despite that we didn't really say we'd talk on a daily basis or even every couple of days, I find myself wanting to talk to him every day. Even after I've just spoken to him, in the following days I am constantly reminding myself that I don't need to call him again so soon. But tonight is different; I want to thank him for the text he sent, and tell him about my day. I don't know what his plans are for tonight, if he's busy with schoolwork or has any classes; but if he's home I want to talk to him. I could text first, I suppose, in case I'm interrupting…

Nah. I grab my phone and punch in the now-familiar phone number. It rings, once, twice…and I wait to talk to the boy who is quickly becoming my favorite person.

-o-

**Did you see New Moon this weekend? GAH! I went to Niagara Falls to meet my girl EJ Santry – we had an awesome time and saw NM while we were there. IT'S SO DAMN GOOD. Chris Weitz did an amazing job. The only thing that makes me a little sad is Jasper's hair. Okay, it makes me a lot sad. The wig master and I *will* have words about this at some point.**

**This coming Friday, December ****4th, I'll be contributing the story for Twilighted's Friday Free-for-All; which will be the outtake of Jack and Jacey's reunion in Chicago when Jack was there for his interview. Plenty of hot, steamy man love! :) **


	4. Chapter 4

**Thanks for your patience in waiting for this chapter to be ready! The DD posting schedule was interrupted by my Gift Exchange fic, which I managed to submit with a day to spare before the deadline. The fics will begin to be posted on LiveJournal as of January 18. If you have an LJ account you can sign up for notifications now at community dot livejournal dot com / twi_exchange / I don't know how I'll wait an entire month for the posting to begin! **

**We last saw Jack the evening after his first day at the new job. He was just about to call Jacey…**

-o-

_Jack_

"Hello?"

He answers after the second ring. I know he has call display, and I also happen to know that he has a particular song programmed into his phone to play when it's me calling (though he has yet to tell me what it is). It amuses me that he always answers as though he has no idea who it is, his voice lilting upwards in a question. Perhaps he does it on purpose so that I'll have no choice but to say…

"Hey there, sweet boy."

"Jack!" he replies, happiness evident in his gentle voice. "How are you? How was your first day?"

"It was great," I grin and give him an abbreviated version of the details I gave my mom (I'm sure Jacey is less interested than Mom in the color of the tile in the 39th floor men's room). I cover the important stuff, though, ending with a grateful acknowledgment of the text he sent me mid-morning. "There were moments during the day when the information overload was a little overwhelming," I admitted, "but it was nice to know you were thinking about me. Thank you."

"You're welcome," he replies. "I'm glad you called to tell me about it – I was wondering how things went."

"Well, I have to admit that you were actually the second person I called tonight, after my Mom." I'm feeling relaxed and light enough to tease a bit.

He chuckles. "Oh, don't apologize for calling your mom first. I live in the South, don't forget," he returns, before slipping into a deep Texas drawl. "'If mama ain't happy, ain't nobody happy.'"

I laugh out loud at his affected accent, the sound echoing throughout the apartment. It sounds like a caricature of a Texas redneck. Jacey does, of course, have a bit of drawl, but it's a sexy, throaty sort of accent consisting of some elongated syllables and the addition of a mild "sh" sound where I only pronounce an "s". Honestly, I never found any southern accent very sexy till I met Jacey, but that extra half-second when he draws out my name – it does things to me.

He joins in my laughter, commenting when it dies down, "It's good to hear you laugh like that."

"It's been a while," I admit. "I mean, since I laughed out loud and really felt it. Probably since before the wedding. God…" I think back. "Maybe since we met here in January."

"Jesus, Jack," he says, "you're making my heart ache."

"Sorry," I apologize immediately. "I don't mean to be such a wet blanket."

"Well, it's not that - more that I worry about you. You seriously need to laugh more than once every few months," he suggests.

"Oh, I have big plans for laughing," I assure him and return to some levity. "I predict that about eleven days from now a warm front will sweep into Chicago, bringing sweet Texas winds, brilliant sunshine and raucous laughter."

"Ack," he groans. "I can't wait, and at the same time I know I have, like, four assignments due between now and then…"

"Shit, and I've kept you on the phone for half an hour. You should have told me to let you get back to work," I chide.

"No way. I don't get to talk to you that often – man can't live by text messages alone."

"No," I murmur. "No, he can't. Well, you work on your assignments and I'll do the 'can't wait'-ing for both of us, okay?"

He sighs. "At least having a ton of school stuff to do will keep me busy between now and next Friday."

"Would you rather I not call you while you're trying to get your stuff done?" I offer. I mean it in all seriousness but he scoffs.

"Pfft – no, I would _not_ rather that," he returns quite decidedly. "In fact I'll be home and sitting by the telephone Sunday night…say around 6 pm?"

"It's a date, cowboy," I smile.

"Cowboy, huh? You know, I do have the hat."

"You do?" I try to picture beautiful, artistic Jacey in a cowboy hat, but as I've only ever seen him dressed for the city, I just can't draw the mental image.

"Yeah, I worked on a ranch near my house, summers when I was in high school. I still have the hat. Comes in handy for cowboy nights at the clubs." I can hear a smirk in his voice.

"I think you'd better bring that hat to Chicago when you visit," I tell him. When he laughs, I continue, "I'm being quite serious. I need to see this."

"That so," he says. "Well, I'll think about it."

Now he's just being mean. "Okay – back to work, youngling. I don't want to get a call from you next Thursday night telling me you can't visit because the dog ate your homework or something."

"Not a fucking chance." This time _he's_ the one who's dead serious. "Nothing will keep me away. But I do need to get back to work. Have a good rest of the week, Jack. I'll talk to you Sunday."

"You can count on it," I promise. "Bye, sweet boy."

"Bye."

The line goes dead. I gaze off into space for a while and think about him. In my mind's eye I picture him flipping his phone shut, and maybe he's gazing off into space too, a faint smile gracing his sweet lips as he thinks about the call…and then I shake my head and return to the present. I set my cordless back into the charger and I'm heading to the kitchen for a glass of water when my cell phone chirps, alerting me to a text message. I wonder if it's Ashton, not really considering that it might be Jacey since we just hung up. I press a key on my cell to open up my messages, and there sits a photo message: an obvious self-portrait, featuring a shirtless Jacey. An impish grin is plastered on his face and an off-white straw cowboy hat with a slim black cord around it sits atop his head, tilted rakishly to one side. As always his brown hair falls in soft waves to his shoulders and something about the lighting has particularly caught his blue-grey eyes. In other words: dead fucking sexy.

I groan – even if my imagination hadn't failed me, there's no way I could have pictured something as good as this. I quickly text back, _Was just on my way to bed. Won't be able to sleep NOW. Yeehaw, cowboy. :) JC_

Less than thirty seconds after my message, the phone chirps again. _Pleasant dreams,_ is his innocent reply. I grumble at my phone. Pleasant dreams, indeed. Wet dreams is more like it.

I grab a glass of water and head to bed. After stripping off all my clothes into the hamper I slip naked between the soft, smooth sheets. I grab my cell from the night table and thumb to Jacey's message again. My already half-hard cock twitches as I close my eyes and picture him standing in my bedroom wearing nothing but that hat. As alluring as the hat is, the thought of him being here is an even bigger turn-on. I stretch and roll onto my back, pushing the covers down past my hips so my upper body is exposed. I cup and stroke my balls, imagining Jacey's hands on me. When I take hold of my rigid shaft, it's Jacey, sinking down onto me, taking my length deep inside him. The image of him riding me, his lips parted as he pants heavily, finishes me. I explode, panting right along with my dream boy, covering my hand and stomach with jizz.

After my breathing returns to normal I clean up and slide back down under my covers. It's been a busy, tiring day, and especially after a fantastic orgasm thinking about Jacey, I am very quickly drifting off.

-o-

The rest of the week passes reasonably quickly. My days are spent at work, of course, and in the evenings I hit the gym after dinner. At work I now know the names of five people without having to stop and think about it; they're all the administrative assistants. I figure it pays to learn their names first since they'll be supporting me while I work here. I know other brokers who treat their support staff like crap – one actually told me once that his staff should be grateful that they get to work for someone who makes as much money as he does – but I have never, ever found merit in it. For one thing, I have a difficult time being a jerk to anyone, but especially the people upon whom I'm going to rely to make sure my paperwork is processed. We should all be treating our support staff like fucking gold.

The assistants I'll see on a daily basis are Amanda, Linda, Carrie, Jenna and Susan. Linda, Carrie and Susan have all been with the company for at least fifteen years; Amanda and Jenna are in their early twenties, but very energetic and friendly. My two main support people are Jenna and Susan. Numerous times through the week I sidle up to one of them and quietly ask them to remind me what so-and-so's name is, or to please help me change my outgoing message on the voicemail system. They help me through the week and by the end of it I'm calling the group The Fab Five. I show up Friday morning with a large bouquet of flowers to brighten their shared workspace. The reaction I get shows me I've just cemented my place in their good graces. After Andrew notices the flowers and asks where they came from, he sticks his head in my office door. "Nicely done, Jack," is all he says, but I know he shares my views on how to treat support staff.

The inevitable situation does arise, of course. In the lunch room, Linda asks if I'm married. "No, not married," I answer, which invites the next obvious question. I have to fight the urge to sigh – I'm not closeted in the least, but good grief, why do people think this is their business? "I'm sort of seeing someone, but it's a long-distance thing."

"Aw, really?" she says sympathetically.

"Yeah," I reply, and casually add, "He lives in Austin." I keep my eyes fixed on the bowl of split pea soup in front of me, but I swear I see a triumphant smile on Jenna's face in my peripheral vision. The verbal reaction is one of sympathy, a chorus of "awwws". I'm glad that's out of the way.

-o-

By Friday night I've come to a decision about something that's been bothering me, namely, Karl. I still don't know what the fuck happened last week when I was with him, but I know it was unacceptable to treat him that way. Whatever is going on in my own weird psyche should not result in me mistreating an innocent bystander. There's only one way I can think of to make it right – I have to find him and apologize.

Late Friday night I set off for Spin. I figure it's the best place to start, though I have other clubs in mind if he's not there.

In the club I check my coat and grab a couple of shots to steel my nerves before looking for him. Fortunately his fauxhawk makes him fairly easy to spot on the dance floor. I toss back my shots and slowly make my way across the dance floor. It's a girl shower contest night; once in a while feminine-sounding catcalls resound from that part of the bar. The floor is packed with boys – sexy, buff boys who don't hesitate to slide up against me as I pass. I recognize one or two of the faces as ones I saw last week. One boy, of whom I made particular note last week, smiles at me this time and I return his smile. _Hmmm,_ I think, _maybe I'll come back to that._ Karl is only a few feet away now – he hasn't noticed me threading my way through the crowd. As soon as he does his entire face lights up.

"Jack!" he shouts and wraps his arms around my neck. I grin at his enthusiasm. It's clear he's feeling good tonight and I'm encouraged at his positive reaction to seeing me. Certainly he doesn't seem to hold a grudge.

"Hey Karl!" I shout over the throbbing bass, hugging him back.

"Dance with me," he insists, and I do for a couple of songs. His friends are around us and a few of them tell me their names as we dance – Jesse, Scott, Ian. After a few songs I tell Karl, "Hey, come on, I'll buy you a drink."

He nods and links his arm through mine before we begin a slow weave back to the bar. When we have drinks in hand I ask him, "There's a lounge upstairs where it's a bit quieter, right?" He nods and I continue, "Can we go up there? I wanted to talk to you about last weekend."

He looks perplexed but agrees. Upstairs we find a vacant banquette on which to sit. We still have to talk over the noise, the cacophony of voices in the packed lounge, but it's much better than down on the dance floor.

"So," I begin, "I came here tonight hoping I'd find you. I wanted to talk to you about last Friday when I came to your place."

He's regarding me with uneasiness now. "Fuck, Jack. You look serious as a heart attack. Are you okay?"

"I'm fine!" I assure him. "Don't worry, I'm not going to tell you I have a disease or something."

He relaxes visibly and smiles. "Thank fuck. I mean, I know we were safe, but…you know."

I do know. It's the same risk all of us take any time we hook up with someone whose sexual background we don't know. "No, I wanted to talk to you about when I…" Time to swallow my pride. "When I hurt you."

"Oh, that." He shrugs. "Like I said, Jack, it's fine. I did ask you to give it to me hard."

"You did," I acknowledge, "but I still should have been careful. I _always_ am, and I can't even explain what happened. I felt awful, that night and all goddamn week. I had to come tell you how much I regret it."

"You came here specifically to find me so you could apologize?" He looks astonished.

"I did," I nod. "When my dad gave me 'the sex talk' he told me that no one else would be accountable for me. I was responsible, he said, not just to use a condom but to make sure my partner was okay. 'A real man brings respect to a sexual relationship, even if that relationship only lasts one night.' When I came out at the end of high school he told me it changed nothing about my responsibilities in that regard. It stayed with me."

Karl has listened to me with wide. "Well, fuck," he replies. "I've never heard anyone say anything like that before."

"That's why I came looking for you," I continue. "I should have said it as soon as it happened. I'm so sorry that I wasn't careful or respectful of you, Karl. I regret it very much."

"Thank you for coming to find me," he replies, his hand reaching out to gently stroke the back of mine where it rests on my thigh. "And for apologizing. Of course I accept. It's fine – I'm fine. Really." He gazes at me for a moment before adding, "Maybe you _are_ Cary Grant."

I have to laugh at his assessment. "Not even close," I reply. "For starters, Katharine Hepburn would walk all over me, I'm quite sure."

"That's an unfair comparison," he grins. "She was dynamite." He slides his fingers under my hand and links them with mine. I'm pretty sure he's not just being friendly. I meet his gaze and he's looking hungrily at me.

"Karl," I begin, but he shushes me.

"I know. I know you don't like to kiss, and I know you don't like a guy who comes on too strong…don't look so surprised. I've got eyes, Jack, and I'm pretty decent at reading body language. You don't have to be worried that I'm going to cling. I'm not looking for anything other than the chance to have you in my bed again."

_Hmm. _Just another no-strings fuck? "Technically you didn't have me in your bed before…" I point out coyly. He only smirks in reply. I think perhaps he knows I'm in.

-o-

Two hours later I'm whistling as I walk home, thoroughly sated and relaxed and thinking how terribly convenient it is that Karl's apartment is so close to Spin. Things went well there tonight. He didn't try to kiss me, but he did give one knee-buckling blowjob. And as I was waiting at the bar for Karl to say goodbye to his friends, the boy I saw when I first arrived came up to me, introducing himself as Sam. I told him I already had plans but that I would keep an eye out for him next time I was there. He nodded and smiled, and suggested he'd like it if that happened sooner rather than later.

I can only grin as I consider that, at least where sex is involved, my prospects here are pretty damn good. Not that I've ever had trouble finding a hookup, but being new has given me a freedom I've never experienced before.

On the other hand, something I've realized since moving here is how much time I have alone with my thoughts. In Seattle I had the options to see my friends on the weekend and I always exercised that option. Knowing that, I chose to have weekday evenings to myself.

Here my weekends are spent doing what little amount of cleaning and laundry are necessary, then I'm on my own. This weekend I end up on the phone a lot. I call both of my brothers at school, my mom again, Ashton and Kathleen, Jasper and Edward, my roommate from my freshman year of college. I even get on Facebook and nose around to see if any old college friends are in the area (there are a couple but no one I'm really anxious to see). I figure while my time is my own I should make the most of getting to know my new city. Saturday afternoon I visit the Adler Planetarium. As the stars chart a course around the ceiling of the darkened Sky Theatre I decide I have to bring Jacey here when he visits – he would be entranced by the beauty of this.

Sunday evening I call him, as arranged. He's waiting for me of course, and has good news that he's already completed three of his four assignments. "I've been working like a demon," he admits. "Seriously – I haven't been to a club in two weeks."

"Wow, by the time you get here you'll be ready to cut loose," I suggest.

"Definitely," he agrees. "I can't wait. A friend of mind was telling me about a club called Spin? He said it's pretty wild."

"It's not bad," I agree. "They have good music, definitely. They have 'events' if you like that sort of thing. Something for everyone. But there are a couple others I haven't been to yet. I'd like to go while you're here…" I find myself steering the conversation away from the clubs, asking him about school, work, family…anything else.

As we wrap up he says wistfully, "Well, five days from now I'll be with you."

"For a whole week," I add. "Think you'll be able to put up with me that long?"

"I like a challenge," he replies.

"Smartass," I grin. "Have a safe trip."

"See you Friday, Cracker Jack."

"Bye, Jacey."

I'm not sure how I feel about taking him to Spin – the thought of him seeing me with Karl or seeing the other boy, Sam, acknowledge our casual plans, makes me uncomfortable. The problem is, I don't know _why_ it does. Neither of us has made or asked for any kind of commitment or exclusivity. Surely he understands as well as I do how complicated and impractical that would be. He lives 1200 miles away and we've only actually been together on two separate weekends. I don't know if I could be in an exclusive relationship where my partner was so far away and I saw him only every few months.

On the other hand, the mere fact that he's travelling this far to visit me makes this more than just a friends-with-benefits situation. I know the connection we feel is uncommonly intense. If life was different, if we didn't live so far apart…but it's not, and we do.

I have to stop being such a little girl about it because it isn't going to change.

-o-

Monday I'm back to work, and I have a meeting this morning with Mike Newton, the lawyer I met in the parking garage my first day here. Before I begin acting as a broker, I've been asked to work with Mike to figure out exactly what Eric Yorkie was up to during his last months here. I'm proud to say that it was my assistants, Jenna and Susan, who finally went to Andrew to complain that Eric was making unauthorized trades. When Yorkie was confronted with it, there was nothing he could do to deny it. Management staff "suggested" he resign immediately, which he did. Unfortunately, before the company could take steps to address it directly with the clients involved, one of them realized what was going on and went directly to the Securities & Exchange Commission to file a complaint.

Which is why lawyers are now involved in figuring this shit out. We will have an SEC agent present as we review the files. Mike, our counsel will be there as well, and me, a broker who is new to the firm. I have no culpability and no strong ties to anyone in the firm that might tempt me to conceal information to protect myself or my colleagues. The key is transparency in the process – it's the only way to appease the SEC and regain the good name the brokerage had.

Mike is shown into my office at around 10 am, looking very dapper in a charcoal grey suit and a plum silk tie. "Hi Jack," he says pleasantly, extending his hand. "Good to see you again."

"Hello Mike." I shake his hand. "Likewise." His pale blue eyes twinkle; he's even better-looking than I remembered. It's obvious the lighting in the parking garage and the elevator just weren't sufficient to do him justice.

"Getting settled in, I see?" He looks around my office curiously. "How are things going?"

"Going very well, actually," I smile. "Everyone is really helpful. I'm looking forward to getting this Yorkie stuff over with so I can get back to being a stock broker again."

"Yeah, he really made a mess of things," Mike replies absently as he stands in front of my bookshelf looking at the contents. I have books, of course, but also a couple of photos of my family, a little statue of the Space Needle, and a few token items from several places where I've volunteered over the years – all oriented toward service to the gay community. He spends the most time looking at these. As he does I wonder whether it's possible that he's gay as well. Unfortunately I have absolutely no intuition about this sort of thing - I'm consistently wrong. Even Ashton's better at guessing than I am. But in this case…well, even if Mike was gay, him being is the firm's legal counsel makes it pretty cut and dried. No fraternization, especially in the midst of this Yorkie stuff.

When Mike turns back to me, he remarks, "It's great that you have a job that you love, something you're looking forward to getting back to."

"And that I deal well with stress," I add.

He grimaces. "Yeah, the last few years have been a little crazy, huh?"

"You could say that," I grin.

At that point my supervisor Andrew comes in and our meeting gets underway. The three of us teleconference with the SEC agent, Steven. Steven outlines what information we'll be collecting and sets out the SEC's guidelines about the chain of custody for the documents we set aside. He suggests that perhaps two weeks will be an adequate length of time for the three of us to go through the files. As we'd all like to begin right away we decide to start tomorrow.

Once the arrangements are complete and the teleconference is over, Mike also reviews some information with Andrew and me, about the type of conversations we should avoid in Steven's presence. He isn't suggesting that we hide anything – only that if we have any doubts, we should speak to him privately about it and he'll present it to the SEC agent.

When we're finished it's noon. This afternoon Mike and I are going to get the 39th floor conference room ready for us to inhabit for the coming two weeks, but Mike suggests that we get some lunch first. I agree and we make our way to a lunch place I've discovered down the street from my building. They have amazing soups there and an employee told me last week they always have a vegetarian option among their daily soups.

The deli is almost a cafeteria-style layout. We get our food and pay then go find a table. The lunch rush is on so it's very busy and quite noisy. At least there won't be any awkward silences.

"So, Jack," Mike asks after a few bites, "what do you think of Chicago so far?"

"So far? It's goddamn cold," I grin, "though the sunshine does help make up for that."

"It's been a pretty cold winter, even by Chicago standards," he says, adding wryly, "though I've never noticed the sunshine doing much to make up for subzero temperatures."

"At least you _see_ sunshine here," I counter. "It didn't get this cold in Seattle but it was so damp, always damp, and almost always cloudy and grey. I found the weather terribly depressing."

"You said you're from California, right?" he recalls, to which I nod. "What took you to Seattle?"

"My best friend and I are both from California originally, but we didn't meet till we were both at Harvard. When we were done we knew we wanted to be closer to California than the east coast, so we started applying in Washington, Oregon, California, Arizona…anywhere closer than mid-West. I got a job first, and it was in Seattle; and then he got a couple offers and took the one in Seattle."

"Um, by 'best friend', do you mean boyfriend...?" He trails off questioningly.

I look up at him, incredulous. He's sitting there, calmly waiting for me to answer like he's entitled to all the details bout my life. Seriously? Who the fuck does Mike Newton think he is?

-o-

**Any guesses on what Jacey's ringtone might be for Jack's calls? :)**

**The season of Christmas is upon us and I have so much to be grateful for this year. Creatively, this has been the most rewarding year of my life. I am honoured to share this corner of the interwebs with you and to have forged so many new friendships and acquaintances. I wish you comfort and joy, and the happiest of New Years. **

**Peace and love,**

**Katie xoxo**


	5. Chapter 5

**IMPORTANT NOTE**

**Many of you know that _this _Mike Newton was not originated by me, but by DefinitelyStaying in her story House of Cards. So if you already knew this and have read House of Cards, you're ahead of the game and you may skip down to the actual chapter text where great things await you. LOL**

**If you haven't read House of Cards, it's incumbent upon me to give you a bit of a synopsis so you'll understand where Mike is coming from, what happened to him before he met Jack (and also to let you know that I'm not stealing him - DS offered him to me). **

_**THIS SYNOPSIS CONTAINS SPOILERS FOR HOUSE OF CARDS. IF YOU DON'T WANT TO BE SPOILED, STOP READING NOW. **_

**Ethan Hughes and Mike Newton were childhood best friends in Chicago, until they were eight. At that time Ethan was abducted by a sexual predator who held him and abused him until he was fourteen. Ethan then escaped and was reunited with his parents; but had understandably suffered severe emotional and physical trauma, the effect of which was devastating. When he was old enough for college he moved to Seattle and changed his last name to Bryant; in Seattle he met a professor who became a trusted advisor and friend. That friend eventually introduced him to the world of BDSM. Ethan found that when he was in a consensual relationship involving domination and submission (himself being the dominant) it helped bring order and control to his life that he'd struggled to regain for so long.**

**Ethan becomes a doctor. In his private life he has two submissives, Lexi and Jayden, both of whom are students in Seattle. When each of them finishes their undergrad and both move to Chicago, Ethan is bereft, feeling abandoned and lost. After some poor choices in his efforts to manage his emotional pain result in physical injury to him, Lexi and Jayden, now a couple, convince him to move to Chicago to stay with them for a while during his convalescence.**

**Lexi and Jayden have, together, begun a relationship wherein they are dominant partners to one submissive male, Thomas. Ethan moves into their house and occasionally joins them in the playroom, in a submissive role. He begins to keep a diary, attempting to process the trauma of his childhood that he has never truly dealt with. He is also dealing with the feelings of abandonment that Jayden's move created; wondering why Jayden in particular affected him so profoundly. His journaling helps him come to terms with the fact that he's gay.**

**He renews his relationship with his parents, Mr. and Mrs. Hughes; it is at their weekly Sunday brunch that he meets Mike again for the first time since they were children. He finds out that Mike is gay as well. He makes a date with Mike and their relationship slowly evolves into something deeper - tender and loving.**

**As things with Mike blossom, his relationship with Jayden deteriorates. Jayden becomes sullen, withdrawn; and Ethan is upset that he can't help Jayden with whatever is going on. His own feelings towards Jayden are confusing the hell out of him, and he can't help wondering what might have happened if he'd realized sooner that he was gay - if he and Jayden might be together. Their sexual relationship in the playroom continues, which causes Ethan guilt as he hasn't yet told Mike about that facet of his life. When Mike sees some physical scarring on Ethan, Ethan must make allusion to the BDSM lifestyle, telling Mike that pain helps him forget about the torment of his childhood. Mike accepts this; but Ethan does not add that he's in an ongoing physical relationship that includes Jayden, Lexi and occasionally Thomas.**

**Things between Jayden and Ethan deteriorate further when Jayden, assuming Ethan is okay with bottoming, instructs Thomas to top Ethan. Ethan panics and flees the house to Mike's, where he stays for several days. Jayden is wracked with guilt and Ethan feels betrayed. When he returns to the house to discuss it with them, he makes an assumption about Lexi's relationship with Thomas that causes Lexi to blow up at him. Jayden tells them the three of them need to do something together to reconnect; that he doesn't want to completely lose the friendship they've had. The next day when they're on their way to a museum, Lexi dies as the result of a tragic accident.**

**Naturally her death is devastating to both Jayden and Ethan. Amidst the agony of survivor's guilt Jayden decides to return to Seattle, and asks Ethan to return with him. Ethan agonizes over the decision but decides to go, at last realizing he's in love with Jayden. He comes to Mike's house to tell him he's going to go to Seattle with Jayden and as Mike attempts to reason with him, Ethan lets slip that he's been sleeping with Jayden. Mike, understandably, loses his shit and tells Ethan to get the fuck out.**

**So while Ethan and Jayden have their eventual HEA in Washington, Mike is left in Chicago…and that brings us to where Chapter 5 begins. **

-o-

_Mike_

Generally speaking, people suck.

I was thirty before I discovered this fact. Talk about slow on the uptake – I'm a lawyer, for fuck's sake. If it wasn't for mass human suckage, there would be a lot fewer of us, and we'd only be needed for real estate transactions and the execution of wills.

But because of the dishonest and unethical individuals, I have a job. I protect my clients against the actions of people like Bernie Madoff, Eric Yorkie. Ethan Hughes...Bryant...whatever the fuck he wants to be called now. As it turns out, both Hughes and Bryant flow equally well with the middle names "Cheating Bastard".

_It was Ethan who finally broke through my naivety and illustrated how even my best friend could stick a fucking knife in my back if I became superfluous to his plans...that I was expendable, just a distraction to fill the time until what he really wanted became available._

_The worst part was that I watched Ethan break himself against that rock – the love he wanted and couldn't have – and I fucking put him back together, more than once. He came to me – fled to me is more like it – and I welcomed him with open arms. I didn't ask questions - I wanted to wait until he was ready to tell me. I faithfully believed that day would come, because I loved him. _

_He did eventually tell me. He told me that person, that man who had caused him the pain he'd fled…that he loved him. That he would move to Seattle with him. That he'd been having sex with him, even after he became intimate with me. In short, that he was choosing that person over me._

_Isn't it great to find out that you're really worth nothing._

_The weeks after I threw him out of my house were awful. I existed in a fog when I was around others, in a rage when I was alone, and in a nightmare when I slept. I developed a bad habit of clenching my jaw from the stress – as though my teeth could eventually grind down the sharp blade on the knife of dishonesty and abandonment that was wedged into my back. I developed headaches and had to see my dentist, who fitted me for an appliance that prevented me from clenching my teeth at night. The appliance helped with the headaches and eventually the pain of heartbreak quelled somewhat as well. No longer an exquisite, finely-pointed pain, it became dull, insensitive and blunt. _

_Like me._

_I would not, I decided, be the patient, long-suffering guy who got shit on and taken advantage of. That guy was a chump. Instead, I would ask questions and expect real, substantive answers. I would speak unequivocally and accept nothing less than to be treated with respect._

_My parents were a bit taken aback by my new more assertive attitude. My mom told me, "Michael, this just isn't you."_

"_No, it's not the old me," I corrected her (gently – there was no need to be assertive with my parents). _

"_I liked the old you, darling," she mused with a sigh. "I know he hurt you," she steadfastly avoided his name since she knew I didn't want to hear it, "but don't blame yourself."_

"_I don't blame myself for what he did," I insisted. "But Mom, I let him do it. I just sat and let him use me and then toss me when he didn't need me anymore." She looked at me sadly and I knew she shared my assessment. "I knew he had issues that went much deeper than our relationship, but if he respected me at all he wouldn't have done what he did. I can't own his behavior but I can damn well make sure it doesn't happen again."_

_It was around that time that I stopped going to the Hughes' weekly Sunday brunch. Why should I continue? I couldn't stand the looks of pity, of sympathetic understanding. I didn't want to hear Mrs. Hughes excitedly relating how she had received her son back, essentially, from the dead and how happy he was with…that man. Nor did I want her to have to stop short in the middle of a sentence when she saw me listening – she should be able to enjoy her new happiness without me dampening it. Everything about the Hughes family home reminded me of Ethan. _

_I began to think about whether I should rethink my approach to sex and relationships. At age thirty I'd never had casual sex, never had a one-night stand or a fling. I'd only ever been intimate within a relationship. I supposed that was because the guys I'd been attracted to had seemed to want the same thing. After the disasters my previous two relationships had become, I started wondering if I had it wrong. Sure, I would keep my eye out for Mr. Right, but shouldn't I allow myself to have some fun with Mr. Right Now?_

_I had needs. Jerking off was one thing, but it had been months since I'd been fucked. I owned a few toys - it simply was not the same thing. I decided to try going to a club, even though I always felt terribly self-conscious dancing. I couldn't bring myself to go to the baths, but at least at a club I could pretend, if only to myself, that I wasn't there solely to look for a hookup. _

_On a Saturday night I dressed carefully before checking myself out in the mirror. I couldn't deny that I was looking damn good in a slim-fitting black shirt, the top three buttons undone. With the sleeves rolled up to just below the elbow, my muscular forearms were exposed. The dark blue denims I wore hugged my ass, outlining the curves. I'd recently had my dirty blonde hair cut from a straight shag to a much shorter, tidier cut; I styled the top carefully. I swallowed my nerves and headed out the door. _

_The club I had in mind was far enough north of my house that that I didn't feel like walking, especially if I was hoping to leave with someone. The bar was crowded with a mix of older and younger men and women. There was a crowd surrounding the bar, where bare-chested men in jeans were serving brightly-colored glasses of courage and poison. On the dance floor, go-go boys danced nearly naked on platforms surrounded by crowds of admirers. I hadn't been to a club in ages, and I was very quickly remembering why. The noise, the crowds…the twinks. Being tall and muscular, I was often mistaken for a top even when I was in college. Tonight was no different. No sooner had I received my own dram of courage than a smooth young boy – he couldn't have been more than 18, and I hoped he was at least that old – was at my elbow. _

"_Hi gorgeous," he said with a sweet smile. I felt his hand on my ass almost before I could reply. "I'm Bryce."_

"_Mike," I replied, removing his hand from my ass. _

"_Mmmmmike," he repeated in a hum. "I've never seen you here before, Mmmmmike." He slid his hand up my arm. I felt like I was having a conversation with an octopus – a very persistent baby octopus. _

"_Probably because I was already of age when you were born, youngling," I said. _

_He was undeterred. "You're right – I'm young…which means I've got stamina. I can fuck and suck all night long."_

"_Bryce, let me make it simple for you." I pried his other hand off my thigh. "You and I are looking for the same thing. I don't top."_

_Instantly he backed off. The expression on his face betrayed his incredulity. "You're a bottom? But…you've got chest hair…"_

"_Yeah. I'm a grownup." Without another word I turned and left him standing there at the bar. I shook my head, wondering to myself who was carrying out the education of our gay youth. _

_By the time I was standing at the edge of the dance floor I'd decided that I needed to take matters into my own hands. The dance floor was several steps down from the rest of the bar, surrounded by a railing. I stood at the railing observing for a few moments, scanning the sea of bodies before me. There was one who kept drawing my eye again and again. He was tall, with a full head of shaggy, very dark hair. He was slim and lithe, his bare chest smooth, his arms and shoulders gracefully defined. I moved slowly down the steps onto the sunken floor and made my way towards him. As I drew closer I saw that he had a slim jaw and a smooth chest. _

_Soon he realized I was quite definitely checking him out. He turned towards me slightly, meeting my eyes. Though his face remained inscrutable he held my gaze and began to move toward me as he danced. I stood in one spot, swaying slightly to the music – I was, after all, on a dance floor. When he reached me he stopped, standing before me wordlessly. A fringe of dark eyelashes ringed his deep brown eyes. He was utterly beautiful. _

"_Hi," I said dumbly. Still not speaking, he reached out with both hands, sliding them slowly down my chest. When they reached my waistband he moved them around to my hips. He started to sway again, drawing me with him. He slid one arm around my lower back and pulled me close. He was my height - our bodies pressed together from our thighs to our shoulders. _

_I followed his sensual movements, mimicking the slow roll of his hips as my hands rested on his arms. Continually he held my gaze, and the intensity was such that it simply didn't occur to me that I could look away of my own accord. He smelled earthy and sexy, and my cock was responding to his fucking blazing sensuality. Finally he leaned in, gently drawing his nose from my collarbone to just below my ear, where he spoke as quietly as he could in the noisy club. "I want to be inside you."_

_It was so blunt, so devoid of any preliminaries or pleasantries. It wasn't rude – simply straightforward. I was taken aback even as I reminded myself that this was precisely what I'd come here for: no-strings sex. I needed to be fucked. In silent acknowledgment of his words I moved my hands up, linking my arms around his neck, and ground my pelvis into his. His hands clutched my ass, keeping me close while our obscene dance continued. His lips found mine, his tongue probing gently and sensually into my mouth. I felt his hard length pressing into my groin, brushing my own hard cock. Again and again it rubbed against me until I moaned into his mouth. _

_After at least half an hour of this torture he finally asked, "Your place or mine?" _

"_Yours," I answered breathlessly. "I'll drive."_

_It was less than fifteen minutes later that we were standing in the living room of a smallish Lakeview house. "You live alone?" I asked, hoping he didn't have a roommate to come in and interrupt. _

"_I do," he confirmed, his hands finding the buttons of my shirt. It hit the floor and was soon joined by the rest of our clothes as we hastily removed them from each other. When we were completely naked he drew me back into his arms, our cocks pressing together between our bodies. He placed passionate sucking kisses down my neck and across my collarbone and chest. My hands found his smooth bare ass. I was delighted to find that, despite his slim build, he had a reasonably full, round backside. He wriggled his hands in my ass, reveling in the feel of my strokes and gentle pinches. _

"_You have great hands," he murmured. Now that I could truly hear his voice I found it deep and melodic; it rumbled from a place low in his chest. It was so sexy that I could only respond by falling to my knees. Without releasing my hold in his ass I took the head of his cock between my lips, bathing it with my tongue. He murmured something unintelligible in that low rumble. I slid my lips further along his length, his cock forging greater ingress into my throat. Soon my lips found the base of his cock, where he was hairless and completely smooth. He groaned softly as I held my place, swallowing against the urge to gag. When I needed to breathe I drew back somewhat, letting my lips travel back to the silken head. _

_For long moments I repeated a pattern of advance and retreat, attack and withdraw. His hands stroked my hair. I looked up at him a few times. Each time I found him watching me, enthralled, his lips were parted as he breathed heavily. When he murmured that he was close, I pulled back and slowly jacked him off, placing the head of his cock on my tongue so he could watch his cum spurt down my throat. I held his eyes as he came - his gorgeous face was otherworldly when he was gripped by euphoria. I held his cum on my tongue till he had stopped adding to the pool, then he pulled me to my feet and kissed me, tasting his cream in my mouth before I swallowed. _

"_Fuck, that was hot," he whispered. "You give great head." _

"_Thanks," I replied. "Your cock is gorgeous. You're gorgeous."_

"_Mmm, so are you," he smiled softly, then he gestured toward the couch. "Have a seat."_

_I sat and he spread my knees and gently pulled my ass closer to the edge. He knelt before me and moistened his lips before licking the underside of my cock. I shivered at the feel of his warm wet tongue. One of his hands found my sac and encircled it close to my body, gently pulling my balls. I struggled with myself, fighting not to let my hips thrust towards the warm cavern of his mouth. His tongue made wider passes up and down my length, moving up one side then the other, the top and the underside, swirling along under the frenulum. Finally I could stand the torture no longer. I took his face in my hands, holding it so he wouldn't move his head. Moving painfully slowly I pushed deeper into his mouth. My body trembled when his beautiful, talented mouth sucked hard. I continued to pump very slowly in and out. When he released my balls and moistened his finger in his mouth I shivered in anticipation. Sure enough, his finger found my entrance and gently massaged._

_I groaned when his fingertip breached the tightly-gathered flesh; despite how careful he was, we had no lube to ease the movement between us. Releasing me from his mouth with a smile, as if he could read my mind he reached behind him to the coffee table and grabbed a bottle of lube. He drizzled some on me and gently massaged my intimate skin, this time sliding easily into my ass with one finger, then two. He caught a spare drop of lube with his other fingers and glided them across the skin under the head of my cock. He moved so slowly, so deliberately, I thought I would lose my mind. He knew what he was doing, gradually stoking the flames of my desire until they reached a fever pitch. I was desperate for his cock. As talented as he was, I couldn't wait to have him inside me. _

"_Please…" I began to plead before realizing I didn't know his name. I didn't think this was the time to ask. "You're driving me wild."_

"_I can see that," he said, his voice husky and thick with lust. "Look how you're opening up for me. You need it, don't you?" _

"_God, yeah," I moaned. "I need it." _

"_You want me inside you?"_

"_Please…"_

_He reached back to the coffee table where a condom lay beside the lube. He pulled the condom out of the packet. "Put it on me," he instructed. I unrolled the condom down over his rigid cock, giving a little squeeze when I reached the base. He lifted my legs, placing the soles of my feet on his chest so that I was doubled in two, then he held the base of his cock and with one long, smooth thrust was inside me._

_I gasped. It had been far too long since I'd felt that intense pressure of being completely stretched and filled. His beautiful dark eyes watched me carefully before he withdrew almost completely and slid back into me. It felt fantastic, but I wanted more. I removed my feet from his chest and wrapped them around his thighs, pulling him deeper. He stopped me, pivoting our bodies so I was lying flat on the couch with him atop me. When he resumed his slow, deep thrusts into me I reached up to his chest, rolling his nipples between my fingers. He moaned and lowered his face to mine, kissing me repeatedly._

_I was engulfed by what I'd craved for so long, what I needed so desperately. In the past I'd disdained the nameless fuck, never imagining that I was someone who could derive much pleasure from sex without love. I found tonight that while the lack of romantic feelings didn't make the sex better, it **was **different. I didn't find myself thinking about my partner's pleasure as much as I would have otherwise. I allowed myself to simply feel the physical contact, feel what he was doing to me. _

_He reached between us and stroked my cock, quickening the pace of his thrusts. I could feel my body hurtling toward my peak. I moaned that I was going to come; he slid his hand down to the base of my cock and held tightly there, stretching the skin along the hard, throbbing length as he pushed deep and hard into me, his deep voice urging me to come for him. With a shout I shot my load all over my stomach and chest, my cock pulsing with each spate. He released my length and with both hands he grabbed my shoulders, using them as leverage to piston himself in and out of me. My orgasm continued as he fucked me deep and hard, our skin slapping loudly each time his groin met my ass until he threw his head back and groaned. I wondered if I'd ever seen someone as beautiful as he was when he bucked and writhed in his orgasm. _

_He eventually rode out his peak and collapsed onto my jizz-covered abdomen. To my surprise, rather than pulling out immediately he remained in me until his cock had softened enough that he had to pull out or risk losing the condom. He murmured, "Stay put a sec," and returned in a moment with a hot facecloth and a clean dry towel for me. _

"_Wow. Thanks," I said, surprised. _

_He simply smiled. He cleaned up as well, and when we had both gone so far as to replace our briefs, he said, "I'm Nicolas."_

_I looked up, again surprised. At this point I'd pretty well figured we weren't going to exchange names. "Mike," I offered. _

_He smiled again and nodded gently. We continued to dress in silence until he was walking me to the door. "I haven't seen you before," he commented. "Are you visiting?"_

"_No," I replied. "Just never been much for the clubs."_

"_Lucky for me, then," he said, his hand resting on the door knob._

"_And me," I added with a smile. He held my gaze for an instant before reaching one hand to my neck and pulling me in for a last deep kiss. I took that opportunity to thread my hands into his shaggy dark hair, knotting my fingers in the soft waves until we pulled apart. _

"_Thanks, Nicolas," I murmured. _

_His hand moved from the back of my neck up to the short waves of hair on top of my head, giving them a soft brush. "Thanks, Mike," he replied before stepping back, pulling the door open with him._

"_Good night," I said with a smile, and was gone. _

_As I drove home I thought again about why I'd decided to go this route tonight. I had asked myself several times whether it was an attempt to fuck **him** out of my head but kept coming up with the same answer: It wasn't about Ethan - I needed sex. I was still angry with him – I was furious – but I wasn't in love with him. I wasn't doing this because of him. I was doing it for myself. I knew I simply couldn't go that long again without bottoming. _

_Over the next couple of months I did go out several more times – every three weeks or so – and found an adequate Right Now each time. I would gladly have gone home with Nicolas again, knowing how good our chemistry had been, but I didn't see him on my subsequent visits to the clubs._

By the time I meet Jack Charles, it's been five months. Five months of being on my own. Five months of becoming comfortable with my new direct approach…and I believe I've seen positive results from that approach.

From the moment I meet Jack I'm positive he's gay. Seeing the commendations from queer organizations in Seattle is unnecessary. In fact, the commendations themselves are meaningless – all they say is that he has volunteered in the queer community. No, my gaydar is what tells me we play for the same team, and I'm uncannily accurate. I've sometimes identified people (privately, at least) before they even admitted it to themselves.

When I go to lunch with Jack he tells me about his 'best friend' who still lives in Seattle. I ask for clarification – is "best friend" a euphemism for boyfriend? When he doesn't answer I look up to find him silently staring at me, chagrin plainly written on his face. He holds that gaze for an uncomfortably long time, staring me down until my fucking palms begin to sweat.

-o-

**Oy. That was harsh, I know; but necessary for me to explain where Mike's coming from at this point in the story. Next chapter we'll switch back to Jack's POV and see how he deals with this situation. **

**I added a couple of pics to the blog since posting Chapter 4. There's a pic of Jacey Elthalion in a cowboy hat – my writing inspiration for Ch 4 – as well as a pic of my Mike Newton. :) Link is in my profile. Writing inspiration for Ch 5 is "Day Old Hate" by City and Colour – staggeringly apropos. **

**A final note about House of Cards. The story is no longer available on the fanfiction sites. It has been pulled by the author, DefinitelyStaying, to be reworked for publication. I've been told by Trish/DS that I am allowed to tell you she has a tentative release date of June 1, 2010, for the book. Its predecessor, The Forbidden Room, which tells the story of how Jayden and Ethan met, is already available for purchase and download on her website. Please visit www dot jpbarnaby dot com for more information. **


	6. Chapter 6

**Please see my author's note at the bottom of the chapter for a couple of important announcements. **

-o-

_When I go to lunch with Jack he tells me about his 'best friend' who still lives in Seattle. I ask for clarification – is "best friend" a euphemism for boyfriend? When he doesn't answer I look up to find him silently staring at me, chagrin plainly written on his face. He holds that gaze for an uncomfortably long time, staring me down until my fucking palms begin to sweat. _

-o-

**Chapter 6**

_Jack_

Mike finally flinches and looks away. Only then do I reply. "Not that it's any of your goddamn business," I state slowly and clearly, "but by 'best friend', I mean 'best friend'. I'm not closeted and I have no problem saying 'boyfriend' when that's what I mean. I expect the fact that I'm gay will not be an obstacle to our working productively together."

He looks back, his expression both amused and sheepish. "Obstacle?" he says. "No. Your blue eyes are lovely and you look like a movie star, but I'm pretty sure I can control myself and be…productive." He smirks on the last word.

"You're gay?" I ask suspiciously.

He nods, saying slightly mockingly, "I expect that won't be an obstacle."

"Yeah. I mean, no. It won't." I relax my vigilant posture somewhat, though I can't entirely erase my scowl. 'm still irritated at his brazen question.

He picks up on the irritation and offers, "Just thought I'd broach the topic. I prefer to have things out in the open."

"With no allowance made for the privacy of others?" I find myself raising an eyebrow. He catches the gesture and looks appropriately abashed.

"When you put it that way…" He grimaces. "It was brash. I'm sorry." He holds his hand out to shake mine, looking sincere in his apology. "I certainly don't want to do anything to jeopardize our working relationship."

"Thanks," I reply, shaking his hand. "No real harm done, I guess."

"Plus, I thought if I brought it up, it might put you at ease." He grins sheepishly.

"Oh. Killer instincts, Counselor," I offer. An exaggerated roll of my eyes and a smirk in his direction let him know I'm teasing.

Shaking his head in mock regret, he muses, "My father had such hopes for me…"

This hurdle crossed, the rest of our lunch is more relaxed, spent chatting about superficialities. We're both looking forward to the start of the upcoming baseball season, which will open in just a few weeks despite the fact that we're still essentially in winter here in Chicago. We banter about our favored teams – the Red Sox for me, the Cubs for him – and I mention that I'd like to go to a Cubs game this season. "My firm has season tickets," he tells me, adding, "You're welcome to use them some weekend."

"Wow," I smile, "that's really kind. Thanks."

The afternoon passes by quickly as we prepare the board room for the upcoming couple of weeks. I give Jenna some cash and ask her to pick up some pastries on her way in tomorrow morning – nothing like a white-flour-and-refined-sugar rush first thing in the morning, but maybe it'll start things off on the right foot with Steven, the SEC agent. Couldn't hurt, anyways.

Over the course of the afternoon Mike and I move past the awkwardness of our lunchtime conversation, establishing a friendly banter. He casually mentions a few details about himself - whether it's to encourage me to trade elements of my own life with him, I don't know, but I do find myself surprised to realize that he's actually pretty easy to talk to. I wonder if perhaps he was trying too hard at lunch and it translated into social ineptitude. In this atmosphere at least he seems more at ease, and that allows me to lower my guard a bit. By the time the workday is over, I've learned that he's thirty and has just made junior partner at his dad's law firm. He's close to his parents, has no siblings, and aside from baseball, he loves to sail in the summer and downhill ski in the winter. I mention that I'm an avid skier, though my summer sport of choice has been surfing since the summer after my first year of college, when Ashton taught me to surf. Mike tells me I should get myself to a ski resort called Chestnut Mountain before the season is over. I thank him for the recommendation, though I know that with having Jacey for the next two weekends, it won't happen. There's always next year, though.

At home I have dinner, read for a bit and then prepare to turn in early. I want to arrive tomorrow earlier than usual to check my emails and deal with anything waiting for me before Steven and Mike arrive at the office. Before I go to bed, though, I send a text to Jacey. _Five more sleeps._ I wait around for a few minutes, expecting my phone to buzz with a reply. I brush my teeth, get a glass of water…no reply. I take my phone to my room with me and set it on the nightstand. I change out of my clothes and put them away neatly…no reply. I go through my closet, deciding on what to wear tomorrow and setting it aside…no reply. Oddly, no amount of glancing at my phone on the nightstand causes it to buzz, either. Finally I climb into bed, naked as always, and five seconds after I've turned out the light, my phone buzzes and the display lights up. I reach through the dark to grab it and there's a reply from Jacey. _That's five too many._

-o-

The week is challenging. Yorkie's files are a disaster, and we spend a good hour each day simply sorting things into chronological order before we tackle the contents. It seems Eric eschewed the assistance of the support staff, claiming that he wanted to have a more personal hand in his files. As it turns out he didn't want them to know he was physically cutting out signatures from other pieces of paper and taping the signature portion to new buy or sell orders before faxing or scanning them. When Susan went into the file for the Groenfeldts, when Eric was home sick for the first time ever (so she tells me) she actually found a blank sell order in the file. The form had a small piece of paper taped to it, and that piece of paper, naturally, contained a signature from Mr. Groenfeldt. She showed it to Jenna and the two of them went to my supervisor, Andrew.

I'm not surprised to learn that Eric was a workaholic who was here early each morning, stayed late at night and never took holidays. Obviously he didn't want anyone else to get into his files and see what he was doing. That kind of behavior is very typical of someone who's committing some type of corporate fraud. Unfortunately it contributed to his illegal acts going on for nearly a year before he was caught. Becoming too sick to come to work one day was his undoing.

Steven is pleasant but, of necessity, he keeps things on a very professional basis, almost to the point of being bland. Rather than going out for lunch this week I find myself ordering in and spending the hour in my office, replying to emails and returning phone calls. At the end of the workday each day I'm worn out, mostly from the stress of not wanting to say the wrong thing in the presence of Steven, not wanting to ask Mike any questions that could negatively impact the brokerage.

Despite the mental exhaustion, I make myself get to the gym a couple of times during the week to help get rid of some of the stress. I run into Sam there on Wednesday night. Shyly he asks me if I'll be at Spin on Friday. I tell him I'm expecting a visitor from out of town on Saturday and I'm not planning to go out Friday night. He smiles and suggests an alternative – a blowjob in the steam room. I decline good-naturedly, adding, "Maybe another time, though."

He takes it in stride, assuring me, "Looking forward to it."

-o-

On Thursday Mike knocks on my office door at lunchtime and asks if he can eat his brownbag lunch in my office. "Of course," I offer, gesturing to the other chair at my meeting table.

"You're sure you're not too swamped?" he asks.

"No, everyone must have decided together to give me a break." I grimace slightly. "Only two emails and no voicemail."

He grins as he unpacks his lunch. "That's either really good, or really bad," he muses.

"I couldn't agree more," I nod, smiling wryly as I'd thought the exact same thing.

"So, how's it going in there?" he asks sympathetically. "You've seemed a little tense since we started working with Steven."

"I am," I admit. "I keep worrying I'm going to screw something up."

"Jack," he admonishes, "you know what you're doing. I can see it and I know you already know this, too. You know what falls within ethical and legal versus what doesn't."

"Sure," I agree, "I know that part, of course. But I find I'm constantly checking myself against asking questions or bringing something up in front of Steven that I shouldn't. I'm stressed the fuck out that I'm going to say the wrong thing. This is my first real assignment for Fortunatus, you know?" He nods in understanding. "I need my involvement to be pristine. I don't want to be the one who buggers this thing up."

"First of all, Eric Yorkie buggered things up. You're one of the people trying to make things right, so you can stop worrying about that right now. Second, everything in those files is going to go to Steven eventually anyways – it's not as if you're throwing away trade secrets. They're the SEC – they can ask for whatever they want and will get whatever they ask for. So even if your question is something that, ideally, I'd want to discuss privately first, it's not going to make or break the outcome."

He pauses, taking a bite of his ham and Swiss and chewing thoughtfully before continuing. "I know Andrew personally as well as professionally - we've been playing squash together for several years. He wouldn't have trusted this responsibility to just anyone. I know he's impressed with your knowledge and the attention you give to your work, and the board trusts his judgment. I really think you're worrying needlessly."

My shoulders relax a bit as I contemplate his words. It's been difficult to take a step back and look at this objectively, since I've been immersed in it all week. Mike has given me fresh perspective and lifted some weight off. He obviously can see the change in my demeanor. He smiles kindly and says, "That was helpful?"

I exhale, a breath I feel like I've been holding since Tuesday morning. "It was. Thank you." I grin back at him before adding with some surprise, "You give a good pep talk."

"Not prying into the intimate details of people's lives frees me up for sensitivity," he smirks.

"I think that's known as using your powers for good instead of for evil," I nod.

We eat in silence for a few moments before he speaks again. "Could I ask one question, though? If it's too personal you can tell me to fuck off."

"Okay," I agree cautiously.

"What the _hell_ are you eating?" He stares at my bowl of soup. "I've been trying to identify it since I sat down."

I laugh out loud. It does look a little strange; but damn, it's good. "It's split-pea soup with barley." He looks a little horrified so I explain, "I'm a vegetarian so I don't get protein from meat sources. When you combine a whole grain with a legume, a vegetable or a nut, it creates a complete protein combination."

"What does it taste like?" he asks, highly skeptical.

"Hang on," I tell him, crossing to my desk drawer to grab one of the plastic spoons I've stuck there from this week's previous order-in lunches. Handing it to him, I offer, "Try a bite."

The expression on his face is so comical, a combination of alarm and disgust. "Oh, come on," I cajole. "I guarantee it's better for you than the smoked deli meat and white flour you're consuming."

"It looks like you scooped it out of a swamp," he states bluntly, holding the spoon and poking around in it.

"Yeah, I did. The swamp at Wendt Playlot." I roll my eyes deeply. "Are you going to play with it, or take a bite?"

Like a man being led to the guillotine, he scoops up a spoonful, screws up his face, closes his eyes and tastes it. Without opening his eyes, one of his brows slides up a bit as he allows the flavors to find his taste buds. Slowly his face relaxes out of its grimace, and he swallows, opening his eyes.

"Well?" I ask expectantly.

"I'm alive," he says cautiously, hedging, "for now."

"Oh, god," I laugh at him and roll my eyes. "What about the taste?"

"Actually," he admits, "it tastes a lot better than it looks. It has a different flavor than I was expecting."

"Yeah, you think it's going to be all earthy but it turns out to be kind of sweet," I agree.

"Or, you think it's going to be radioactive and it turns out to be edible," he teases.

We're interrupted then by my desk phone ringing. While I'm on the phone Mike finishes his lunch and leaves, signaling that he'll see me back in the board room. By the time I end my call I have just enough time to wolf down the rest of my lunch, now lukewarm, and visit the men's room before returning to the task at hand.

I don't have another chance for a friendly chat with Mike before the week is up, but I'm glad we had the opportunity to talk freely today. There's no question that his words helped me tremendously. That afternoon and the following day, I feel less anxious and better able to focus on just completing what we need to do.

-o-

I don't drink during the week, only on weekends. Having the stress level I do, it would be much too easy to have a drink every night to relax, but as my mother's dad was an alcoholic I'm very aware of my consumption. So during the week I find other ways to get rid of stress – working out at the gym, sex when it's available.

It's Friday night, though, and all bets are off. I order a pizza – mushroom, onion and tomatoes – and then collapse on my couch with a beer as I wait for it to be delivered. As I sit I think of what I need to do before Jacey arrives. Some grocery shopping; a bit of cleaning. Jacey doesn't drink at all so I don't need to make a visit to the liquor store. I'm a little uptight about having a tidy apartment – admittedly, living alone makes this much easier – so there's not a lot to do on that front; vacuum, make sure the bathroom is spotless, mop.

All things that can be done tomorrow, because I am sure as hell not doing a damn thing tonight. When the pizza has been delivered and paid for, I relax and eat in front of the TV, watching syndicated sitcoms. This is exactly what I need tonight – some good, mindless humor to help me decompress.

After a couple hours and another beer, my eyes are closing of their own accord. Giving up trying to fight it off, I head off to bed. I'm almost to my room when the sound of my cell phone ringing summons me back to the living room. I grab it and peer at the display, a smile finding its way to my face in spite of the fatigue.

Jacey.

"Hellloooo, sweet boy," I answer huskily, my voice roughened by sleepiness.

"Hey, Cracker Jack." A smile is evident in his voice as well. "How are you?"

"Great, now that I'm talking to you," I reply, before I wince, wondering why I used such a cliché.

Fortunately Jacey doesn't seem to mind it at all. "That's nice to know."

"And how are you?" I add.

"I'm excited as hell for tomorrow," he replies with enthusiasm. "I don't think I'll be able to sleep at all tonight."

"Oh, you should definitely get some sleep," I caution.

"Really? And why is that?"

I drop my voice again into a low timbre. "Because I'm excited to see you too. And you're going to need your strength."

I hear him inhale sharply. "Is that a promise?" he murmurs.

"In less than eighteen hours, you'll find out for yourself."

He hums lightly as though he's thinking about it, before replying, "So how was your week?"

"Actually…exhausting. I was headed to bed as you called. I was falling asleep watching TV," I admit.

"Oh, you should have told me!" he scolds. "I won't keep you."

"It's okay," I reply. "You're worth the delay. Definitely."

"Thanks." I can almost hear the blush that is certainly creeping across his cheeks now. He forges on quickly. "I just wanted to remind you about my flight details."

I already know his flight details. "It gets in at 11:55, right? I'll meet you at baggage claim, like last time."

"Yup," he agrees. "I guess you didn't need me to remind you."

"I wrote it down just in case, but turns out I've thought of it so many times it's kinda seared into my brain." I wish I could see his face as I drop these little hints on him.

"Okay. So…I'll see you soon!" His excitement is back.

"Have a safe flight," I tell him. "See you tomorrow."

"Goodnight, Jack."

"Night, Jacey."

As I slide into bed a few minutes later I'm filled with anticipation for the coming week. Spending time with Jacey, showing him around Chicago, dancing, having him here at my place…I've been looking forward to it forever, it feels like, and now it's almost here. If I'm honest with myself, I also feel a little apprehensive – not much, but I haven't lived with someone since I moved to Seattle, and never with someone I was sleeping with. Of course, neither has Jacey, I suppose, so for the sake of a week we'll muddle through it together. Before I fall asleep I whisper into the darkness, "Tomorrow night you'll be here with me."

-o-

Saturday morning dawns clear and mild, a beautiful almost-spring day in Chicago. Having been in bed before 9:30 last night, I'm up bright and early this morning, scrubbing the bathroom, vacuuming and mopping. I head out to the grocery store, and I'm home, with the groceries put away, before 10:00. I've picked up a few special things: a bouquet of two dozen white tulips for the table and some snacks I know Jacey particularly likes. It's an attempt to be – I wince as I think the word – romantic. I know he's not my partner, or anything official. Still, he's flying all this way and staying with me for a week. That's more than a casual acquaintance. I fear my attempt is inexpert; but I have a feeling Jacey will appreciate them. I liked selecting things with his enjoyment in mind, and I'm surprised to find that I'm enjoying the anticipation of seeing him enjoy them.

I put the flowers in a vase and set them on the table. It's 10:15 and I need to jet. It shouldn't take me more than forty minutes to get to the airport, but I still want to make sure I'm there in plenty of time. As it happens, I arrive an hour before Jacey's flight is due. According to the information signs, his plane is on time. Now I just have to wait – not terribly patiently – for him to arrive. Restless, I wander O'Hare's checkerboard floors, wondering if he looks the same. Wondering if he'll like staying with me. Wondering if either of us will regret this week when it's all said and done.

Essentially driving myself nuts over-thinking things.

I remind myself to chill out, just relax till he gets here. There's no point in fretting about things that may not happen. I find a coffee shop and after getting a coffee, I sit down with the Tribune and try to concentrate on it - anything to keep from working myself up needlessly. By the time 11:55 comes I'm doing okay – still feeling a lot of nervous energy, of course, but that's because I'm going to see Jacey soon.

The signs tell me the flight has arrived. After offering my newspaper to a couple who has just come into the coffee shop, I stride in the direction of baggage claim, standing pretty much exactly where I did last time I met Jacey here. Then, though, I was a tourist too, and I took him "home" to the hotel I was staying in. Now, I'm bringing him _home._ Home is a place I've never brought him to before – seldom bring anyone to, in fact. With hookups, I prefer to go back to the other guy's place. I don't have to rely on the other person to get out of my apartment when it's over and I want to go to bed. This is very different.

I look down at my clothes one last time, making sure everything is in place. I'm wearing a pair of black flat-front pants and my favorite sweater, a charcoal grey v-neck in a fine knit. I love that this sweater highlights my upper body - I'm not ripped like a lot of guys are, but still well-defined. My black leather jacket and striped Forzieri scarf are folded over my arm as it's much too warm here to wear them.

Soon there are enough people flooding from the restricted areas to baggage claim that I start to look around for Jacey. My eyes wander the crowd, searching in vain for my boy. Several flights have disembarked at once, making the area surrounding the carousel a bit of a madhouse. My eyes flicker to the information screen again. Jacey's flight indicates that the bags have been delivered. I sigh, scanning the crowd again, impatient to lay eyes on him.

Suddenly, hands are sliding around my waist from behind. I startle, turning automatically in the direction of the assault…then my face breaks into a spontaneous, irrepressible smile.

Plush lips. Twinkling blue-grey eyes riveted on me. Shoulder-length brown hair, chestnut strands gleaming in the sun that filters through the skylights overhead. An excited, expectant smile.

Jacey is here.

-o-

****sigh** Yeah. Sorry to cut it off there, but it seemed like a logical place to stop. Next chapter…well, you know. :)**

**Okay – business time. The first is that, as previously mentioned, the Gift Exchange fics will start being posted on LiveJournal on MONDAY! (I'm a teensy bit excited) They will be posted anonymously, with the author reveals taking place once all the stories have been posted. **

**Second: You may have heard of the Haiti Earthquake Relief fundraiser taking place in the fandom now, founded by MsKathy. The upshot is that for a donation to the charity of your choice (related to the Haiti earthquake) you will receive a compilation of stories from many, many Twi authors, including yours truly. The piece I'm contributing will only be contained in this compilation. There are more details on my blog as well as a link to MsK's site. **


	7. Chapter 7

**Thank you for not lynching me (well, most of you, anyways, LOL) when I ended the last chapter at that crucial point! Here, we pick up exactly where the last chapter left off. Enjoy!**

-o-

_Jack_

No need to jump into each other's arms – his are still around me, holding onto my waist despite me stepping back as I turned. He has stepped with me and tightens his lock on me. "Jackie!" he exclaims with a brilliant smile.

I loop my arms around his shoulders and crush him to me. "Jacey! You're here," I reply excitedly. He burrows his face into my chest for a moment before lifting his head to shine that smile at me again. "I was about to start sweating bullets if I didn't see you soon!"

"I saw you from the side," he grins, "and I knew you hadn't seen me. I couldn't resist sneaking up from behind." His voice drops to a murmur. "I'm so glad to see you."

In reply I bend my head to his for a chaste kiss. My hand strokes the soft locks of hair that lie against the back of his neck. His strong arms around me threaten to crack one of my ribs, but I honestly don't care. When his lips pull away from mine, I can't help a little sigh of happiness. At hearing it, his smile brightens even more as he comprehends what it means.

"Come on, sweet boy." I wriggle out of his arms but claim one of his hands. "Let's get your stuff."

He turns and bends to pick up his laptop case from the floor beside him, then we walk to the baggage carousel. We chat about the flight while he watches for his stuff to come around. "Ah, there's my suitcase," he says, "and there's my guitar case." I grasp his suitcase and he picks up a black hard-shell guitar case.

"This suitcase is pretty light for the size of it," I comment. We head in the direction of the parking garage.

He looks sheepish. "I know it's huge, but I use it because I can put my portfolio inside it along the bottom instead of having to carry it separately."

"Your portfolio?"

"Yeah, you know. My artwork," he clarifies. "I just can't go a week without it. I have to draw."

"Of course," I nod in understanding. "Maybe you'll show me some of your work?" He hesitates, and I look over at him to find him blushing a bit. "Is that a no?"

"I'll show you. It's just…for a long time I didn't show _anyone_ what I drew, you know? Even in high school I somehow managed to avoid much exhibition of my stuff, other than to my teachers. I know I have to get over it so I'm forcing myself to show it to people I trust." He grimaces. "It still makes me nervous, though."

His modesty is so endearing that I can't help putting my arm around his shoulder and drawing him close to me, but to put him more at ease I change the subject. "Hey, how did I not know you played guitar?"

"Oh, I mostly just play around for fun," he shrugs. "I brought it because I'll have time during the day; thought I could learn a couple new songs while I'm here."

"Do you sing too?" I prod.

He chuckles. "Well…I'm not sure if you could really call it singing." He doesn't seem nearly as self-conscious about music; maybe it's because he does it only for his own enjoyment. On the other hand, he hopes to have a career based on his artwork, making those stakes much higher.

We get to my car and load his stuff into the trunk. After I slam the trunk lid, our eyes meet again; we both hold the gaze till simultaneously we move into each other's arms again. Without kissing, without speaking, we just hold each other for a long time. Jacey's head is tucked into my neck and my hand is irresistibly drawn to stroke his smooth hair again. "Mmm," he finally says. "That feels so nice."

I kiss his forehead and reluctantly pull away. "Let's get you home." His eyes dart to my face and he gives me a funny look, almost searching. "What?" I ask.

He looks for a moment longer, then his face relaxes into a grin. "Nothing. Let's go."

We each slide into my A4 and before long we're on our way back to Boystown. Once I'm on the highway and no longer need to shift, Jacey's hand rests in mine on my lap. He tells me about his friends' incredulous looks when he told them he was choosing Chicago over Galveston for spring break. "They couldn't understand that I'd choose to spend the week with only one person, instead of 'nailing' as many people as possible." He shakes his head disgustedly. "I swear all they think about is...pussy."

I can't help chuckling at his delicate shudder. I add an exaggerated, "Ugh!" and he grins at me.

We sit in silence for a few moments before I ask, "So what did your mom think of your decision to come to Chicago?" Jacey has been raised by his single mother, never having known his father at all.

"Um…"

"You did tell her, didn't you?" I add.

"Yes!" he answers hastily. "Yes, of course I told her. I've never successfully lied to my mother, not once, so I stopped trying a long time ago."

"Okay," I reply slowly. "Good." I release his hand to put both hands on the wheel. There's another pause before I push, "So I guess that means she wasn't happy about it."

"Well…" He hesitates before sighing. "She didn't forbid me to come or anything. I mean, she can't now, and that wouldn't be her style anyways. But she wasn't exactly thrilled about it." I don't respond. "I promised her I'd get to some museums while I was here and that it'd be good for my art. I don't think she quite bought that, but she didn't say much about it."

Quietly I ask, "She knows you're coming here to be with me? She doesn't think this is just a change of venue from Galveston?"

His reply is almost just as quiet. "She knows." I simply nod, and from the corner of my eye I see him shift his upper body to angle towards me. I keep my eyes on the road. "Jackie," he says, his voice sounding almost pleading, "you know it's not personal, right? She's my mom; she worries about me. It was just her and me for a long time, you know?" I nod once. "The circumstances worry her, and the fact that she doesn't know you, but she trusts my judgment of you." I feel his fingers stroke my cheek.

I reach up to take his hand again, pressing my lips to his fingers. I meet his eyes quickly and give him a little smile before returning my eyes to the road. We're silent then and my thoughts are torn. On one hand, I'm reminded how young Jacey still is. It's been a long time since I had to really worry about something like incurring my parents' disapproval on where I take my holidays. On the other hand, he _did_ tell her the truth and he addressed her concerns in what seems to have been a mature manner. The fact that she trusts him means something, too.

An unbidden memory appears in my head from the night I met Jacey in Austin. Taking a cab from the club where we met, back to my hotel…

_When we pulled up in front, I handed the driver enough cash to cover the fare and the tip, and slid out of the car, holding the door open till Jacey got out. He paused for a second in the seat, looking at the cabbie who said something to him that I couldn't hear._

"_No, thank you," Jacey politely answered with a smile. "I appreciate you asking, though."_

_After I closed the door behind him and the cab drove off, I asked him what the driver had said. "He said I didn't have to get out, that if I was feeling unsafe I could stay in and he'd take me where I wanted to go, no charge."_

What prompted the cabbie to make that offer?

Jacey's phone plays a short tune, interrupting my reverie. He pulls it out of his pocket and peers at the screen. "Speak of the devil," he says quietly, untangling his fingers from mine. His thumbs fly over the keypad. "I sent her a text right after I landed," he explains. "She must have just gotten time to read it. Saturday's her busiest day. Weddings." Jacey's mother Leah is a florist.

He tucks the phone back into his pocket as we turn onto my street. We pull up in front of the apartment and he leans into the window to see the architectural detail. "Such a great building," he comments with satisfaction.

Forcing myself to shrug off the melancholy, I grin. "Yeah, what can I say? You've got quite an eye." He turns and flashes me a thousand megawatt smile, his face flushing with pleasure. "Come see what it looks like inside now."

We grab his stuff out of the trunk and carry it in. My apartment is on the second floor of the secure three-storey building, which is pretty well perfect. I'm not right at the ground floor which makes me feel a bit more secure, yet if I'm coming into the house with my arms full of stuff I don't have to lug everything up multiple flights of stairs. I unlock my apartment door and push the door open, then stand back and gesture him in with a flourish of my arm. "After you."

He steps in and immediately puts his things down so he can take off his shoes. The sidewalks outside are sloppy and messy as things melt, and I silently praise his consideration, especially for someone who's not used to snow. Once we've both taken off our winter layers and hang them on the hooks inside the door, I usher him in for the grand tour. The front door opens essentially into the living room, though there's a small alcove here which serves as foyer. The apartment is long, taking up one entire half of this storey. The living room flows unbroken into the dining room and beyond the table are the sliding doors that go out onto the rear balcony. A decent-sized kitchen is also on the back wall. Heading towards the front of the apartment through the living room, I have long shallow closets along the apartment's inside wall, and the bathroom on the outside. Beyond those is my bedroom which is at the front, and the walk-in closet which also, oddly, has a window on the front of the building. There are three bay windows in this apartment: one in the living room on the side wall, another on the side wall of my bedroom and one on the front wall in my room.

There are hardwood floors throughout, aside from the bathroom, kitchen and foyer, which all have ceramic tile. I love that this isn't a new, square-box building - it has fantastic charm. Jacey loves the architecture of the building's exterior; I'm in love with its character. The kitchen and bathroom were both newly updated just a few years ago, but with attention to the original style of the building. The bathroom has new white penny tile floors, and the tile extends halfway up the wall. All in all, I'm so glad Jacey convinced me to take this apartment, even though it's a longer walk to the subway than the other was.

As I show Jacey through again and he sees all _my_ stuff for the first time, I'm struck by how tactile Jacey is. His hands are constantly reaching out, his fingertips gliding along the back of my sofa as we pass it, running over the smooth bathroom tiles, stroking the gauzy sheers in my front bedroom window. No wonder he's so passionately responsive when it comes to sexuality; he's a very sensual being.

By the time he's seen the whole thing, it's clear the apartment gets his stamp of approval. We go back out to the foyer to retrieve his bags and carry them to my bedroom. He tucks his suitcase inside the closet and sets his guitar case in the corner, then comes to stand facing me in the middle of the room.

Abruptly it seems we're both bashful. We just stand, looking shyly at each other for long seconds, till Jacey finally whispers, "Hi."

"Hi," I murmur back, and those little words break the ice. Jacey makes the first move, stepping into my arms, and I clasp him tight to me. _He's finally here. _ "Jacey," I whisper into his hair. "Jacey, Jacey. I'm so glad you're here, sweet boy."

He doesn't reply, instead lifting his face to kiss me. His mouth opens immediately to mine and our tongues find each other somewhere in the space between breath and moan. My hands move to the back of his neck, feeling that soft hair twine among my fingers. His hands roam all over my upper body, stroking my muscles through the thin layer of deep grey cashmere, before slipping up underneath the sweater along my abs. My muscles twitch a little with the soft caresses, a hint of ticklishness there. Instinctively he increases his pressure. He's wearing a sweater too, but it's a chunky cable-knit, and I soon decide there is far too much fabric between the two of us. I lift his sweater and he raises his arms over his head so I can slide it off. As I doff my own sweater (and carefully place it on my dresser) he slips off his t-shirt.

I turn back to him and bend slightly to put my hands under his ass, lifting him so he wraps his legs around my waist. We return to our passionate kisses and I walk him carefully to my bed and lower us both onto it. He releases his hold on me, relaxing his denim-clad legs before beginning a slow, sensual undulation of his body beneath me. I reciprocate, a deliberate, unchoreographed samba, feeling his hips press and twist, his feet sliding up and down my legs.

"Ohhh, god," he groans. "Jack, I've missed you." His hands slide between us to the button of his slim dark blue jeans and I roll off him to let him open them. He slips them off, together with his briefs, and at once his beautiful young cock is standing proudly from his groin. I move towards him but he stops me, pushing me onto my back so he can remove my slacks and briefs as well. Within seconds we are both gloriously naked, tumbling together across the surface of the bed, limbs intertwined, seeking greater contact of skin against skin. His skin against my naked cock is almost too much to handle. I need to be inside him like I've never needed anything before.

As though he's reading my mind he whispers hoarsely, "Condoms?" I reach to my night table drawer and pull out a condom and lube. Taking the lube first he pushes me down onto my back. Rising up onto one knee, his other foot moves across me as though he's going to straddle my body, but he remains on his knee. After squeezing some lube onto two fingers he reaches behind and slips those fingers inside. His eyes close and his head lolls backs slightly, and fuck, I swear I could probably come just from watching him pleasure himself. He moans softly through parted lips, fingering and stretching his opening.

I grab the condom and put it on, then take the lube from him and put a generous coating on the rubber. After returning the bottle to my table, my still-slick fingers dance around the frenulum of Jacey's cock. "Please," I coax, "I need to be inside you."

"Yeah," he groans. "I need you." Removing his fingers he lowers himself over me until I'm nestled into the divot of his tight entrance. He takes a deep breath and releases it as he presses down, allowing me to fill him completely, the last of his breath pushing out in a soft grunt. He sits on my hips, possessing my entire length in him. I lie still beneath him for as long as I can bear it, before begging him to continue.

When he begins to move, it's with painstakingly slow circles, grinding his ass against my hips. Not even my lube-covered fingers teasing the head of his cock can make him increase his speed. He leans forward, putting his hands on my shoulders and looking deep into my eyes.

"Jaceyyyy," I sigh, my voice roughened with lust, "you're making me crazy." He halts his movements and gives me a wicked little smile. He lowers his face to mine for a kiss; his motion rocking forward pulls his ass up away from me. I pull back as well, hoping for greater thrusting. When he releases my lips he _finally_ relents, rising and falling over my hips while still holding my gaze. His face and neck are flushed, his sweat-damp hair sticking to his skin around his hairline. A few times he squeezes his blue-grey eyes closed, betraying the struggle he's having while he attempts to maintain his control.

Remembering how he responds to touch, I let my hands roam over his body, up his thighs and hips, across his chest and abs, stroking his face and hair. Soon his movements become a bit less graceful, a bit more uncontrolled. Need is beginning to surpass control, and I can almost watch it happen on his face. Sliding my hands up his thighs once more, I stop at his groin, taking his cock in one hand and his balls in the other. I begin a slow stroke up and down his cock, giving a little twist and a squeeze each time I reach the head. My hand on his sac gently massages. He stops his movements, his entire body trembling. The look of concentration on his face tells me he is right at the edge and holding on desperately.

I've been lying here nearly silent, just enjoying his beauty. Now I start talking to him, telling him how gorgeous he is, how tight and hot he feels around me, and how good it is when he rides my cock. He's panting unashamedly, wearing the look of one who's in a runaway raft floating downstream and heading for a massive waterfall. I continue stroking his cock and when I tell him, "I've waited so long to have you here, in _my_ bed," he breaks at last.

"Ohhhh," he moans before crying out. His hot white jizz lands on my stomach and chest. Just as his peak begins to drop, I grasp his hips and slam up into him a few times, coming hard right after him, gasping his name. As we come down from our high he grinds on me a few more times, milking the last of my climax.

He lifts himself off of me, his face damp and flushed. "Washcloths?" he asks.

"The linen closet in the hallway, outside the bathroom," I reply.

"Stay there." He grabs a washcloth before disappearing into the bathroom. Hearing the water running, I remove the condom. In a moment he returns with a washcloth. He gently cleans me off, tosses the washcloth into my clothes hamper and climbs back into bed with me where I pull the covers up over us both.

I draw him into my arms, unwilling to let him stir even a few inches from me. Fortunately he seems to be happy with the close proximity. We lie together for a long time. His hair is pushed back from his face and neck, tickling my bare shoulder. To be here with him, naked and stretched out together is such bliss. I kiss his forehead repeatedly; his fingers trace lazy circles on my chest.

Eventually his movements still and his breathing deepens, stretching to longer, regular intervals. I fight against my own drowsiness in hopes of hearing the soft sigh Jacey makes in his sleep. It's not long before I'm rewarded with that sweet sound of contentment. Thoroughly satisfied, I drift off into beatific slumber.

-o-

When I wake the light has changed. My bedroom, on the northwest corner of the building, is shaded by the building next to mine and the room is quite dim now. I can see a glow in the hall, the last beams of light from the red winter sunset that will, right now, be filling my main living space with light.

Moving carefully so as not to disturb Jacey, I lift my head far enough to see the clock on my night table. It's 5:30 p.m. I've slept three hours here with Jacey. I didn't even know I was tired, but this was the best sleep I've had in…I can't even remember.

Within a few moments Jacey is beginning to stir. He stretches his long limbs and yawns before opening his eyes. When he first focuses on me he gives me a sleepy smile, but within a few seconds he startles. "Jack!" he exclaims. "I fell asleep – I'm sorry."

I chuckle, telling him, "We both did, sweet boy. Look at the clock."

He cranes his neck to see. "Holy shit, 5:30?" His face screws up in confusion before his head drops back to my chest. "How is that possible?"

"I'd say we wore each other out," I answer as a deep stretch overpowers me. As much as I'd love to stay here in bed with him, I need to make sure I take care of him too. "I guess we should probably think about getting ready to go for dinner."

"Oh…yeah," he says, giving me a kiss on the cheek before rolling away. He gets up and picks up his clothes, looking for his underwear.

"There's this seafood restaurant downtown – my assistant was telling me about it. It's supposed to be pretty great," I mention casually.

"Whatever you like is fine with me, Jackie." He finds his underwear and after putting them on, straightens up and smiles at me still lying on the bed. "You know I love seafood."

"Of course," I muse, "I did also buy some shrimp and scallops. We could stay in, make some pasta?"

"Really?" Jacey's entire body language changes with my suggestion, his shoulders lifting and face brightening. "If you don't mind, I think I'd rather stay here."

I also roll out of bed and, still naked, cross the room to where he stands. "If I don't mind? I'd much rather stay in with you!" I assure him as I wrap my arms around his waist. "I just…didn't want to be selfish. You know; it's your first night in Chicago."

"Jack, I didn't come here because I was in a desperate panic to see Chicago. I came for you." I bend my head down to rest it on his shoulder. "And I plan to _come_ for you…again and again…"

My cock twitches at his implication and I squeeze him tighter, adding, "…and again."

"I didn't want to be greedy." He grins.

I throw my head back for a hearty laugh, in which he joins me. "Be greedy," I advise him. "Help me justify my own greed."

We make dinner together. I put Jacey in charge of stirring the cream sauce while it reduces. I make the pasta, sauté the shrimp and scallops and whip up a quick salad, completing our meal. When we sit at the table, Jacey pulls one knee up under his chin, his foot resting on the seat of the chair. I don't say anything, just grinning at the childlike pose. I've eaten with him before, of course, so I know his table manners are impeccable; and I don't see this as poor manners. It's a comfortable pose, easy familiarity that doesn't stand on ceremony.

The kind of ease you feel when you're _home_.

Our conversation flows readily throughout dinner. Jacey's hands float gracefully in the air while he gestures, describing a canvas his friend is working on. I'm a little surprised by how I feel at having him here, at my table, in my apartment. I've always been so protective of my space and of my privacy, but Jacey looks like he belongs here as he compliments the white tulips against the cobalt blue glass pitcher.

After dinner we both carry our stuff to the kitchen, our chatter never letting up while we clean up the dishes – me washing, Jacey drying – then drift to the couch. I sit with my back against the arm of the couch, facing Jacey; he sits mirroring my pose, close enough that our knees touch. It's so natural to reach out and touch him as we talk – casually stroking his arm, tucking a lock of hair behind his ear.

Eventually we're interrupted by the phone ringing. I lean to check the caller ID, intending to ignore it unless it's long distance. The number is Jasper and Edward's. "Sorry," I tell Jacey. "It's long distance. I should answer it."

"Of course," he replies with a smile, gesturing to the phone.

I answer to hear Jasper's warm greeting. I return it just as warmly, asking him how married life is. I am so glad for the way Edward and Jasper's life has turned out. The Edward I used to see in the clubs in Seattle is nothing like the brilliantly happy man I've come to know since he and Jasper fell in love. Jasper and I chat, catching up on various things – work, family, mutual friends. Jacey moves around the room for a few moments, looking at my artwork and all my books, till I feel his hand gently touch my arm. I turn to him and he mouths, _I'm going to take a shower._ I nod, kiss his cheek silently and return to my conversation with Jasper.

As intuitive as Jasper is, he senses something's up. Since I can hear the water running in the bathroom I give him a quick explanation of my visitor for the week. Jasper is especially interested that I met Jacey in Austin when I was there for their wedding. I warn him that this is only the third time I've gotten together with Jacey. He immediately scoffs, "Yeah, and the third time just happens to be him travelling a thousand miles to stay with you for a week. Just your average third date." He tells me I sound happy and that he hopes Jacey's the reason for that.

I would stay on the phone with him longer, but I really would like to slide into the shower with Jacey before he's done. I tell Jasper I have to go, promising him more details and a rundown of my week with Jacey next time we talk.

I slip silently into the bathroom and strip off my briefs and the long jersey pants I have on. I peek into the shower; Jacey's eyes are squeezed shut as he rinses the shampoo out of his hair. I manage to get in without him seeing or hearing me, and immediately kneel in front of him. It isn't until I take his gorgeous cock into my mouth that he startles and looks down at me.

"Oohhhh, god, Jack, "he moans. You're going to make my knees buckle." As if to prove his point he braces his hands against the shower walls.

I massage his cock with my tongue for just a moment before standing. "Are you all done in here?" I ask.

"Yeah."

"Meet me in bed," I urge. I could take him here in the shower, but maybe another time this week. Tonight, I really just want him in my bed. He slips out of the shower and I quickly wash up, following him within moments.

I walk into my bedroom and stop short at the sight of him on my bed. He lies on his back, one arm up over his head. One leg is stretched out straight, the other pulled up; his cock is nestled against his inner thigh, long but not yet hard. He wears a half-smile, watching me expectantly.

I am a fucking lucky guy.

I climb onto the bed beside him, kneeling and lowering my face close to his. "You're beautiful," I whisper, and watch his cheeks color with pleasure.

The rest of the night is spent in slow, sweetly passionate sex. There is none of the urgency of this afternoon. We take our time, exploring every inch of each other; licking, stroking, sucking for what seems like hours. When I do finally sink deep inside him, there's a connection I've never experienced before; when we explode together I repeat his name over and over; and when we lie together afterwards in a sweaty, satisfied heap of tangled repose, I feel a new kind of happiness – one that doesn't involve being content only in myself, but in another person as well.

It is an exciting prospect…and I am scared as hell.

-o-

**For everyone who was so eagerly anticipating their reunion (as was I) I hope you're as satisfied as Jack and Jacey are. :) And I think they're pretty damn satisfied. Whew! Photo inspiration for Jacey on Jack's bed? On the blog! **

**Thank you to everyone who participated in MsKathy's Haiti compilation fundraiser, whether as an author or donor. Total raised was – are you ready for this - $75,486.61! AMAZING! **

**On February 4th, the Perv Pack's Smut Shack will feature an interview between EJ Santry and yours truly! Why do I write slash? Where did Bethie cash in her V-card? What would you find in my "naughty drawer"? You won't know unless you read! **


	8. Chapter 8

**Have you checked out the Deep Dish thread on the Twilighted forums? It's a fun place to discuss Jack, Jacey, Mike and the rest of the boys. I share teasers there, and some interesting theories have arisen this week about our boy Jacey! A link to the thread is in my profile. **

-o-

The rest of the week flew by and before I knew it, I was dropping Jacey back at O'Hare.

KIDDING. Sorry, I couldn't resist. (Michelle, that was for you) Okay, here's the real thing. :)

-o-

**Chapter 8**

_Jacey_

Jack Charles.

You know how you can hear someone's name and it conjures up a mental image of what they must look like, even before you've met them? Jack looks exactly like his name sounds – a dashing, elegant actor from the Hollywood glamor era. He is easily the most handsome man I've ever seen close up, with his thick black hair and brilliant blue eyes. He carries himself with grace and incredible presence; he walks confidently, speaks intelligently and decisively.

And his kisses…definitely silver screen quality.

I was so nervous to come here this week, even more than I was when I met him here in January. Then, I was with him for barely 48 hours and we were staying in a hotel. It was a whirlwind of sex and sightseeing and checking out a few apartments. This week, I'm living with him, in his place, staying here while he goes off to work each day. The stakes feel much higher now.

When I saw him at the airport, though…standing there holding his coat, a blue and black striped scarf over his arm, shifting his weight from one side to the other as he watched for me…all the nerves vanished. I had the sudden inspiration to sneak up behind him, and when he turned and saw me and he lit up…the look on his face gave me butterflies low in my stomach. It was excitement and welcome and genuine happiness. Being in his arms felt even better than I remembered. His fingers stroking my hair as he kissed me made me realize how much I'd missed him.

Waking up in his bed this morning after falling asleep together last night, I still can scarcely believe I'm here in Chicago. So many times after we saw each other in Austin, I thought about him – fantasized that he would somehow find out who I was and come back to Austin to find me. In December when I was home for the holidays, I came very close to calling him but something kept holding me back – wondering if I had felt more in our brief encounter than he did. I was very aware of my own naivety, only ever having been with one guy before...knowing that Jack must be at least five years older than me...figuring that he surely must have an active sex life in Seattle, one that meant he had much less time to sit and think about me than I did him.

Ultimately there were two things, two memories of that weekend that convinced me that I had to take a chance. The first was the fact that he came back to find me the second night. He told me he wouldn't be there; and I know he decided to come back because he'd gotten the news of Ashton's engagement. Nevertheless, he came looking specifically for me that night.

The second thing…a single word. _Precious._

Jack insisting on paying $100 for what would be no more than a $25 cab fare was a little shocking. I was skeptical that he even intended for me to really give the cab driver the entire sum, until he told me he'd done the same thing when he put me in the cab the first night.

"_It's a tip," he murmured, "to make sure the driver realizes he's conveying something precious. It's the same tip I gave the driver on Friday night when you left."_

_My eyes immediately found his. "You paid that much," I gaped, "in advance?"_

"_Like I said, I wanted to make sure the driver knew that he was carrying precious cargo."_

That word…precious. Remembering it still gives me a thrill of pleasure. He couldn't know then what effect it had on me, but standing there with him in his hotel room in Austin, I'd willingly have begged him to stay another night if I'd thought there was any chance he would.

Instead, I left, and thought about him day and night for two and a half months. During those weeks I went to other clubs, fooled around a bit with other guys, got a couple of backroom blow jobs, but I didn't have sex. I could have - it wasn't as though I was saving myself for him, as I hadn't yet reached the point where I resolved to call him. I just…didn't. I'm not really promiscuous anyway – too shy to approach many guys, and completely turned off by noisy, vain posers. When I held the options up against my ideal guy, there really was no comparison.

I found myself calling him in early January. I was relieved when I got his voicemail – at least voicemail couldn't reject me outright – and left a slightly disjointed message for him. It wasn't half an hour later that he called me back, and when I saw the number on my call display it seemed almost too good to be real.

The weekend we spent in Chicago was exciting and surreal. I'd worried beforehand that perhaps I'd built him up too much in my mind, or that maybe he was a very different person when there was more than just the two of us. My worries were needless. He was every bit as confident and intelligent as I remembered. Being with him in Chicago only reinforced how gracious he was when he dealt with others. I felt it was a huge mark of trust when he opened up to me about the feelings he had for his best friend and how difficult Ashton's upcoming wedding would be. And of course there was our chemistry – all-consuming and electric.

On the Saturday night of that weekend, after Jack had taken me against the window of our hotel room, we lay in bed together and I told him I didn't want to lose touch.

"_Can we make an agreement that we don't go this long again? Without at least talking on the phone, or…whatever? Because leaving you once was bad enough, when I barely knew you at all. But now…now I know you better than I did. I know I didn't imagine what happened in October. This…chemistry…the draw we have to each other, the fire…it's real, isn't it. It's not just me feeling it."_

"_It's not just you," he acknowledged quietly, burying his face in my chest and placing a kiss there. _

_I kissed the top of his head, feeling the weight of his admission. "I'm not asking for commitment, or exclusivity or anything like that, but I think, after what we've shared this weekend...not just the sex, but the conversations…I think we're friends now."_

For the last couple of months we've texted, emailed and talked on the phone. Before he moved to Chicago our contact was less frequent because he was so busy getting ready for the wedding, the move, his new job. Since the move, though, we're on the phone at least twice a week and texting between times - more so since he invited me to come stay with him for this week.

Briefly Jack stirs beside me, interrupting my daydream, but his breathing soon regulates again. He must be exhausted. I prop myself up onto one elbow and look at him. His black hair is thick and coarse, and looks like it has a tendency to curl if it's allowed to grow out at all. His eyelashes, too, are dark and full, and I know that behind his closed eyelids rest the most vivid ice blue eyes I've ever seen. The corners of his mouth tuck in, giving his pink lips a rosebud shape.

Simply gorgeous.

He is the picture of serenity now, but he looked very different yesterday when we were on our way here from the airport and he asked about my mother. I wish he hadn't asked, or at least not right off the bat; but since he did, I had to be honest with him.

My mom – Leah Dawes – was not happy about my choice to come here to meet an older man. She was even less impressed when she put two and two together and realized the trip I'd made to Chicago in January was to be with Jack as well - I hadn't told her about that at the time. She wondered why someone Jack's age would be interested in me. I was a little offended, actually - it's not like Jack is a couple of decades older than me or that we couldn't possibly have anything in common. I had to be quite straightforward with her. I hadn't told her I 'd become sexually active but it was obvious now. She begged me to be safe and I assured her that no matter who I slept with, I wouldn't jeopardize my health.

I admit I laid it on a bit thick when I told her she's the reason I know as much about sexual health and safety as I do. She saw right through me, of course, but at the same time I think she realized that I was admitting I knew the truth. I've never had a dad in my life - my mom has always been my only parent. She's always made sure I knew I could come to her with anything. When I realized that I wasn't attracted to any girls but that Ryan Cooley from Degrassi got me hot, I came tearfully to her. She hugged me, told me she would always love me, and took me out for ice cream.

Going out for ice cream had been 'our thing' for a long time. When I was quite young, in the days before Mom opened her own flower shop, we didn't have a lot of money. She would save her change all month long, and on a Saturday night we'd go out to an ice cream parlor in Kingsland, each getting a sundae. Even after her business started to pick up and the budget constraints weren't nearly as tight, it continued to be the place we went – to celebrate, to discuss important stuff or just to talk. When she took me there that night I knew nothing had changed: gay or straight, I was still her son, and we still had each other.

When Jack asked me about it yesterday, I could no more lie to him than I could to my mom. I didn't expect him to be as upset about it as he was – the issue is between me and my mother, and has been settled anyways. I can't say that I really understand why it bothered him so much. Mom's disapproval isn't about him personally – how could it be? In fact, I'm confident that if she knew him personally, her objections wouldn't even exist. Nevertheless, I found myself pleading with him not to let my mother's concerns bother him. I don't know whether I really alleviated his melancholy, but he seemed to shake it off somehow, and it didn't come up again last night.

So this morning, after an amazing day yesterday, I'm feeling quite blissful and satisfied. Jack made a big deal yesterday about how glad he is to have me here, and it made me feel secure, desired…precious.

And the sex – simply mind-blowing. Jack is so intense, and when we make love it's like I'm the only person in the world – all his attention, all that intensity – it's blistering hot.

Though we both said after January that we didn't expect exclusivity, I haven't been with anyone else. Well, my old roommate, the only other guy I've slept with, stopped by my house one night when the other guys were out, and we ended up trading blow jobs. But no sex, and I've tried to convince myself that it isn't because I'm saving myself for Jack. Unfortunately, in spite of having the conversation with myself _many_ times, I've yet to devise of another reasonable answer as to why my only sexual contact recently has been with my hand. Even at times when I thought I'd go crazy without penetration, my own fingers sufficed.

But now, being here with Jack, I can no longer fool myself. It's him – he's the reason I've refused other opportunities. I can admit this to myself, but I haven't told Jack, nor will I, not yet. In spite of our strong connection, we've still only known each other a short time. There's still a lot I don't know about Jack and vice versa.

Also, I just don't know how he really feels about _me_. If he told me he wanted to be exclusive…well, essentially I already am, so I'd definitely agree. I don't know, though, if he's anywhere near that point. As far as I know he still has strong feels for Ashton and those don't go away overnight. I can't imagine how heartbreaking it must have been for him to stand beside Ashton and watch him marry another, to know there was no chance for him to share a life with the one he loved.

I refuse to push him for a commitment. He needs to be handled with compassion and care.

But right now, he needs to wake up – I'm starving.

I place small gentle kisses at the corners of his mouth and across his cheeks, gradually rousing him from his slumber. He stirs; his eyes still closed, he reaches out. When he finds me he pulls me close to him and kisses my forehead. "Good morning," he mumbles.

"Morning, Jackie," I whisper.

"Sleep well?"

"Slept great," I reply. "You?"

He tightens his arms even more, crushing me to his chest. "The sleeping was good, but waking up with you is even better."

-o-

After breakfast we relax for a while, Jack in the armchair beside the window with the paper, me on the couch with my sketchpad. I sketch the tulips on the table, leaving everything in black and white except the brilliant blue of the pitcher, which I fill in with an oil pastel. It's the only medium I have that can capture the level of color saturation.

I finish the sketch and flip the page to start a new one. This one is a portrait of an impossibly handsome man I know. Jack is engrossed in the paper and doesn't realize I'm sketching him. He's sitting nearly sideways to me, backlit by the window. I decide on a shadowed profile that allows me to highlight the soft curves of his lips, his fine nose and serious brow.

Eventually he catches me looking at him and raises an eyebrow at me. "What are you up to over there?" he asks quizzically. His manner contradicts the question, betraying that he knows exactly what I'm doing.

I grin. "Just drawing," I answer, innocently vague.

"May I look?" He folds the paper and sets it down before joining me on the couch. I flip the pages back to the beginning of the pad and hand it to him. e starts slowly paging through, examining some wordlessly and commenting on others. The ones that seem to draw his interest the most are the people. I sketch of my mom that I drew last month when I was home for her birthday – "I didn't know your mom's name is Leah," he comments, reading the caption. A sketch of one of my roommates, Will. The naked form of a man who sat for one of my figure-drawing classes. Jack peers closely at that one before muttering under his breath, "This never happened in Econ."

When he gets to the tulips he looks at the date and caption, pursing his lips before he comments, "The blue is so rich." He looks at it a moment longer before flipping to the final sketch. His eyes widen and his mouth gapes slightly. "Wow. Jacey, this is…" He pauses, searching for the right words.

"Not nearly as beautiful as the subject," I finish, softly running my fingertips over his cheekbone.

"You're really talented," he murmurs, his eyes still glued to the sketch. I can't help the glow of pride I feel at his compliment. If only he knew of the entire sketchpad still in my portfolio that is filled with him – sketches of him naked, clothed, his face, his hands, the expanse of his back across his shoulders…

This one is different, though, because it wasn't done from memory - it's a true rendering of him.

"May I keep it?" he asks.

"When it's finished, you can have it," I promise.

He carefully closes the sketchpad and sets it on the coffee table, then turns to me and pulls me close. "Thank you," he murmurs and kisses me gently. I lower my head to his shoulder and we sit silently for a few moments, once again just enjoying each other's presence and close proximity.

Eventually he says, "There's someplace I wanted to take you, and I was thinking maybe this afternoon would be a good time."

My interest is piqued. "Do I get to know where?"

"Adler Planetarium," he replies, to my surprise. I haven't been to a planetarium show since I was in grade school. "I went a few weeks ago and when I was there I kept thinking you'd love it - it's so beautiful."

My heart swells a bit and my grin is almost too big to be contained by my cheeks. He was thinking of me. How could I possibly say no to that?

Fortunately I have no desire to say no, even without his sweet words. It sounds like fun. "Sure," I reply eagerly. "I'd love to go."

"Why don't you do whatever you need to do to get ready. I'll go on their website and check out the show times for this afternoon. Maybe afterwards we can get an early dinner out?" he continues.

"Sounds great." I give him a peck and head for the shower.

-o-

Our afternoon is fun and easy. We take the L downtown to the planetarium, catching the 1:30 show. Like yesterday, the sky is cloudless. The warm sun combined with a lack of wind makes the day beautifully mild. We walk hand-in-hand from the L to the planetarium. In the Sky Theatre, we sit in the back row. When the show starts Jack puts his arm around me, and occasionally sneaks in a kiss. Twice the kisses quickly develop into a mini make-out session. Both times I pull away before the blood leaves my brain entirely.

Jack was absolutely right – the show is beautiful. It doesn't even matter that they're only lights on a ceiling. I rarely get to see the stars in their natural beauty any longer, now that I live in the city. The show makes me long for those Texas summer nights when I could lay in my backyard in Kingsland and stare up into the massive velvet sky, twinkling with diamonds.

After the show we walk to a restaurant near the planetarium. Over our pasta – cheese ravioli for Jack, chicken carbonara for me – I tell him about camping out in my backyard with only the stars as a nightlight. He smiles gently before sighing, "I've lived in major cities my entire life. The only times I've really seen the stars were the times I traveled."

I ask him about his travels and he talks about downhill skiing in Vermont and Quebec during college, traveling in Europe when he was in high school, and his most recent trips, one to Alaska and one to Panama. The Panama trip fascinates me in particular as he relates stories about jungle trekking and kayaking. I would love to visit Central and South America. The Blanton Museum at UT Austin has a collection of Latin American artwork, and from the first time I went there I was completely enthralled. I have returned many times, always discovering some new treasure. I want to see for myself the places I've only seen through an artist's eyes.

Jack listens intently as I talk about the Francisco Matto exhibit I saw just after I started my freshman year, describing the techniques employed by the Uruguayan modernist. Not once does his attention stray, despite the fact that I'm sure it's about as interesting to him as economic theory is to me.

Before I know it it's nearly dark outside. We've been sitting here talking in the restaurant for hours. Jack picks up the check for dinner and then we walk back to the L. Back at his place, the rest of our evening is spent engaging in activities that require little to no conversation at all.

-o-

The next day is Monday. Jack's alarm clock interrupts my sleep at six a.m. He reaches quickly to turn it off, then rolls onto his back and stretches. I open my eyes and he smiles, leaning over to kiss me gently. "Go back to sleep," he whispers. I nod sleepily and close my eyes again.

It seems only seconds later when I'm jolted awake by the sound of glass shattering. I sit bolt upright in bed, looking around me in confusion. My eyes find Jack's clock – it's just before seven.

"Jack?" I ask, but there's no reply from the living room. I throw back the covers and pull on my sleep pants before tiptoeing out of the bedroom, down the hall and into the living room.

By the time I'm almost at the kitchen I can see broken glass on the floor just outside the kitchen door, along with a puddle of what looks like orange juice. Jack is not in the kitchen, and I wonder whether he cut himself and is in the bathroom. I turn to head back towards the halfway, but stop dead in my tracks when I see Jack sitting in the chair in the corner of the living room. I must have passed him a moment ago without noticing him there, tucked into the chair.

He's leaning forward, his elbows on his knees and his face in his hands. He's already wearing his suit pants and dress shirt for work. I can't see his face, but his posture is enough to put sharp fear into my stomach. Did he hurt himself? I can't see any blood.

I cross the living room to him. "Jack?" When he doesn't answer I kneel in front of him. I reach out and take his wrists, gently prying his hands away. His face is flushed and he has tears brimming in his eyes. "Jack!" I exclaim, my fear multiplying. "Are you hurt?"

"Jacey," he says, his voice cracking with pain.

I start looking frantically over him for signs of injury, checking his palms and arms but finding nothing.

"Jacey," he says again. "My dad…" His voice breaks.

I stare at him dumbly, not understanding. I know Jack lost his dad last summer, but I can't understand how that relates to the broken glass on the kitchen floor.

"Jackie," I prompt, "I'm sorry, I don't understand. What about your dad?" He tries to speak again but no sound comes out. "Jack, please," I plead.

Finally his tears spill over, leaving glistening paths down his alabaster cheeks as he no longer tries to contain his pain. "I just saw the date on the newspaper," he says, his voice strained by grief. "I've been so busy – I didn't even think of it…it snuck up on me and then…I wasn't prepared…"

"The date?" I repeat, still not following.

"Today's his birthday," he cries softly.

Suddenly, it's all very clear.

"Ohhh," I breathe, sympathy flooding me. I stand and pull him with me to the couch, where I gather him into my arms. He rests his head on my shoulder and cries quietly - no sobs, just silent tears wetting my shoulder and an occasional sniffle. Jack is usually so composed; I can only imagine how this must be tearing him apart.

"Jackie," I murmur, "I'm sorry…so sorry…" He responds by burying his face deeper into my neck, clinging to me. My heart hurts for him. I wish I could carry some his pain, to lessen what he has to bear.

As I stroke his hair and hold him tight, a line from a song finds its way into my head.

_Oh you delicate heart, sometimes it feels hard to live_

I feel like I'm holding a bubble in my hands. I want to wrap myself around it, protect it from anything that could shatter its fragile beauty...and yet if I don't handle it carefully, _I_ could be the one to inflict damage.

I don't have any wisdom to give Jack, and every offer of sympathy that occurs to me feels trite or insufficient. Somehow, though, I need to try to comfort him, and I can only think of one way. Quietly, hesitantly, I begin to sing him the song, almost whispering it to him as I rock his upper body gently with mine.

By the time I quietly sing the chorus a final time, Jack's sniffling has ceased and his breathing has become regular. After a moment he lifts his tear-stained face from my shoulder. "Thank you," he whispers. "You're so sweet."

"I'm sorry your dad was taken so soon from you, Jack," I murmur. "He should have been celebrating his birthday today, with the love of his family."

Jack nods gratefully, his watery eyes still wide with pain. Suddenly he looks horror-struck. "My mom…I have to call her!" He jumps up and grabs the phone, then stops. "Wait – I can't call her yet, it's only five o'clock there. Fuck! I should have called her last night!" He starts pacing, looking a bit wild as he tries to decide what to do. "I can't believe I dropped the ball on this! I've just completely fucked up, the very first time I need to be there for her…"

My heart wrenches with his guilt. "Could you stay home? Call her later this morning?" I suggest.

"I can't stay home today – I can't miss work. The SEC is still there, and Mike Newton…and Fortunatus is counting on me…I can't bugger this up…" He's becoming panicky now, and frankly it's worrying me. I have never seen Jack out of control or anywhere close to it. I stand to catch him in my arms as he paces past.

"Jackie, shhhh," I urge. "Stop – breathe. It's okay. Do you take lunch at noon?"

"Yes," he answers distractedly.

"Okay – call your mom at noon, then. It'll be ten o'clock her time – that's not so bad. She'll be glad to hear from you," I assure him.

Finally he makes eye contact with me and I think perhaps he's really hearing me. "Yeah," he agrees slowly. "I guess that'll be okay, right? I just…I wish I'd done something sooner."

"Tell you what – leave me her address," I suggest. "You can head off to work and I'll arrange to have some flowers sent to her."

He looks awed. "Really?" he asks. "You'll do that?"

"Of course," I answer with a reassuring smile. "I happen to have an inside track on the flowers, you know."

That brings a hint of a smile to his face and I can see him begin to relax a tiny bit. He mulls it for a few seconds before nodding. "Okay. Thank you." He's still in my arms and again he rests his head on my shoulder, exhaling a deep breath.

Standing in his living room, I hold him for long moments, stroking his back and just being there for him. Finally he sighs and says, "I have to finish getting ready."

"Sure," I agree, kissing his neck before releasing him. He gives me a wan smile, then retreats to the bathroom. I head to the kitchen and clean up the broken glass and the puddle of orange juice, then pour myself a cup of coffee. By the time Jack returns, changed into a fresh shirt and wearing his tie and suit jacket I'm in the armchair with my coffee and the paper. He looks a bit better, though his eyes are still red-rimmed. "Are you okay?" I ask carefully.

"I will be," he answers, subdued. I nod and watch him head to the kitchen, where he pours coffee into his travel mug. He puts on his shoes and a wool dress coat, and the blue-and-black striped scarf that looks so lovely on him. I get up and join him in the small foyer to bid him goodbye for the day.

"Before you go…I should get your mom's address?" I remind him gently.

"Oh, shit," he replies. "I almost forgot." He crosses the room to the bookshelf and pulls an address book down. He leaves it open on the dining room table at the entry for his parents. He crosses back to where I stand by the door. He looks seriously at me and says, "Thank you, Jacey. I don't know what I'd have done without you here this morning. Fallen apart, probably."

"I'm sorry I couldn't do more," I admit.

He shakes his head firmly. "No," he disagrees. "You were…you _are_ a huge comfort." He presses a soft kiss to my lips before whispering, "So glad you're here."

My heart swells and I struggle not to let an entirely inappropriate smile overwhelm my face. I manage to keep it to a small smile, handing him his travel mug and telling him, "I hope your day goes okay. I'll be thinking about you."

He kisses me again before replying, "See you tonight." Then he's gone, the door closing behind him, and I am alone in his apartment for the day.

-o-

**Oh, poor Jack! :( Writing his pain in this chapter was difficult - so raw! I think Jacey did very well, though, didn't he? He could comfort me any time. **

**The song Jacey sang to Jack is called Oh You Delicate Heart, by Hawksley Workman. It's really a very sweet song, and you can hear it on my blog. **

**If you're up for a reminder of how Jack & Jacey met, you can find it in Chapter 32 of Over The Top. Speaking of OTT – it has been nominated for a Golden Lemon Award in the slash category! Voting is open until February 13 and I would be most grateful for your support! You can find it at www dot goldenlemonawards dot com **


	9. Chapter 9

**Happy Valentine's Day! Wow, Jacey's POV was a *huge* hit in Chapter 8! Glad everyone enjoyed it so much. To answer the question some of you asked, yes, definitely there will be some more chapters in Jacey's POV, and Mike's as well. **

**So I'm sort of hitting a stride with this and for the last couple chapters I've found an almost-weekly posting schedule. It seems to be an 8-day thing. I can't absolutely promise to stay on that schedule, but I am really going to try. Especially this week while they're together – it's flowing nicely and I'm keen to advance the story. :)**

**Now, to get back inside Jackie's head after a rotten start to his morning – mitigated by the kindness of a sweet boy:**

-o-

_Jack_

My dad's birthday. I can't believe I let this sneak up on me. When he was alive I'd have already been in touch with Mom and my brothers a couple of weeks ago, figuring out what we would get him as a gift. This year, with him being gone, with my move and the new job – especially the SEC stuff – and with Jacey coming, I simply didn't think of his birthday at all. This morning as I stood in my kitchen with a glass of orange juice in one hand and the paper in the other, I was really happy and content. I had a great day yesterday with Jacey and a passionate night; then woke up with him this morning and kissed him before getting out of bed to start my day. Suddenly seeing the date on the paper was like being cold-cocked in the stomach. The glass was shattering on the floor before I realized I'd let go of it.

Jacey gave me just one more reason to be grateful he's with me this week – coming out to find me when he heard the glass break, comforting me by singing to me and then calming me down when I started to panic about my mom. Offering to arrange to have flowers sent to her was so thoughtful of him; and I really wish I could have stayed home with him today, rather than having to rush off to work as soon as I pulled my shit together. When he first found me in the living room I was a little embarrassed to be so emotional in front of him; but he seemed so comfortable with the role he took in soothing me that I got over the embarrassment pretty quickly.

I'm halfway downtown on the L before I remember that I really should have left him my credit card, or at least my card number, so he can have the flowers sent. I pull out my cell phone and send him a quick text to let him know that I'll call him with my card number as soon as I get to my office. Very quickly my phone buzzes.

_I thought of that about five minutes after you left. Was going to call you in a bit. :) Jacey_

His text makes me smile, if for no other reason than we're on the same wavelength. For the rest of the ride, I concentrate on getting myself into the right frame of mind for work. I still have this goddamn SEC nonsense for the rest of the week; for about the millionth time in the space of a week, I curse Eric Yorkie. Maybe if I push through it as hard as I can early in the week, I'll be able to get things wrapped up sooner. I would love to have Friday as just a normal workday. Perhaps I'll mention my plan to Mike this morning and see what he thinks. I'm sure Steven wouldn't mind getting out of our office a day early, either.

Jenna is the first person I see on my floor at work. She looks a bit too long at me as she asks how my weekend was; I checked my face and eyes in the mirrored interior of the elevator on the way up and thought they looked okay, but perhaps they're still a little red. I chat with her for a few minutes before making my way to my office with a cup of coffee in hand. It's twenty to nine, and Mike and Steven both tend to get here at about ten to, so I have a few minutes to call Jacey.

As I dial his number I wonder again what his ringtone is for me, and resolve to surreptitiously dial his cell phone, to hear the song and see the look on his face when he figures out what I'm doing. He answers quickly, his voice sympathetic and concerned. "Hey there," he says.

"Hey, sweet boy. Sorry I forgot to give you this before I left."

"No, it's fine," he replies. "I didn't think of it either."

"Do you have a pencil and paper?"

"Always."

I grin. Of course he does. "Okay - here's my Mastercard number…"

He repeats it back to me with the expiry date, then asks carefully, "Are you going to be okay?"

"Yes," I reassure him. "And thank you – for everything. The song was sweet."

"Mm-hmm," he hums, "just a little tune I thought was appropriate."

"Don't suppose you play that one on the guitar, do you?" I ask hopefully.

-o-

By the time noon rolls around I've not only talked to Mike about my hopes of wrapping up this process by Thursday, but Steven is onboard with it too. "So we're in agreement, then," I nod. "We'd all like to get this looked after no later than Thursday."

"Should we order in lunches and just work through?" Mike wonders.

"Any other day I'd be onboard," I nod, "but not today. I have an important call to make at noon and it may take most of my lunch hour. I'll order, though. If you guys want to have lunch delivered I'll get in on that with you."

They both agree, and soon we're immersed in our task. Following Yorkie's path through these files is rather engrossing, like watching a train wreck unfold, one unethical email at a time. Working in the boardroom with Mike and Steven, sometimes it becomes so silent that any little noise sounds like a shot going off. More than that, I'm also coming to the rather uncomfortable conclusion that the Fortunatus management had too little involvement, too little monitoring of their brokers' activities while Yorkie was working here. I'm certain the SEC will share that assessment, and I really hope that Fortunatus has already realized their flawed management in this. It will look much better to the SEC if new policies are already in place to ensure stricter monitoring by those who are ultimately accountable for the brokerage.

The morning quickly passes, and at noon our lunch order arrives. I take mine to my office and close my door. I take a few deep breaths before dialing mom's number.

When she answers she sounds subdued. "Hi Mom," I reply gently.

"Jackie." It comes out of her in a strangled voice, and immediately she's crying into the phone.

I fight my own tears, willing them not to make a reappearance at work. It's difficult with my mom sounding completely heartbroken on the other end of the line.

"Oh, Jackie," she says. "I miss him so much."

"I do too, Mom," I choke out. "He was a good father – the best. I miss him every day."

She doesn't answer, much too overcome by her grief. I sit silently, being "with" her though we're so far apart.

Long moments later she finally speaks. "He was a good man, Jackie. He was so proud of you and your brothers, and I know he'd be proud of you today, taking care of me like this. The flowers are just lovely."

"Are they?" I ask, glad they've already arrived.

"Yes, and I was going to call you at home tonight to thank you. I didn't want to interrupt you at work."

"I'm on my lunch," I admit, "but I should have called you last night. It snuck up on me…"

"Jackie, no," she interrupts. "It's hard enough on us all to miss him – please don't make it worse for yourself with needless guilt."

I sigh, not wanting to argue with her. "So what do the flowers look like?"

"Oh, they're beautiful, dear – mauves and purples and greens. All my favorite colors," she replies. "And when I saw your name on the card, it really brightened my day. I'll take a picture and email it to you," she assures me.

"Good, Mom. I'm glad you like them." We chat for just a few minutes longer before I tell her I should eat my lunch and get back to work.

Shortly after I hang up and start into my lunch, there's a knock on my door. Mike's face appears in the narrow window beside the door frame; I smile and wave him in. He opens the door and sticks his just his head in first.

"Sure it's okay?" he asks.

"You bet - I'm just eating my lunch," I tell him.

He comes in, closing the door behind him. "You were on the phone when I came by before. I didn't want to interrupt." He sits at the chair across my desk and looks curiously at me before asking carefully, "Are you okay?"

Rather than answering directly, I query, "Why do you ask?"

"You seem…off, I guess. Not quite yourself today," he replies.

"Ah," I reply noncommittally. I continue eating in silence for a few minutes; and during that time Mike doesn't push, or even look expectant. After a moment or two he gets up and wanders to my office window, looking out at the tall buildings that surround around my 39th-floor office. Finally I provide him with a quiet answer. "Today is my father's birthday."

Mike spins on his heel to face me. "Your dad has passed away, right?"

"Last spring," I confirm.

"Oh," he breathes, understanding. "It's the first one since…" he says, not finishing the sentence.

"Yeah. It was too early for me to call my mom in California before I left this morning. That's the phone call I was on when you came by earlier."

He comes to stand beside me where I sit at my desk, and takes my hand in both of his. I look up and his face is full of sympathy. "I'm sorry, Jack," he says simply.

With a grim smile, I nod in thanks. He holds my hand a moment longer before releasing it. He steps back, saying, "I'll leave you alone."

I shake my head. "Actually, I'd like it if you stayed."

He stops and examines me thoughtfully. "Really?"

"It's nice to have someone here," I tell him honestly.

"Then I'll stay," he says and reseats himself across from my desk. Fortunately he seems to know exactly what I need. He doesn't push for conversation or even really look at me much. He picks up an industry magazine from my inbox and begins to leaf through it. Having him here is pleasant. It also gives me a reason to fight the tears that have threatened since I called my mother.

Soon it's almost one o'clock. Mike checks his watch and says quietly, "Well…we should probably…"

I nod and drain my water glass. "I'll be there in a few," I tell him. After he leaves I brush my teeth then rejoin my colleagues, diving back in to the task at hand.

At the end of the day when I go back to my office to grab my coat and scarf, Mike tags along. He hangs around for a few minutes until I'm ready to go; he stands, shifting his weight from one foot to the other, looking uncomfortable, as though something's on the tip of his tongue.

"Is something wrong, Mike?" I finally ask.

He grimaces. "Nothing's wrong. I'm just trying to figure out how to word this…"

"Whatever it is, please be direct," I encourage him, silently steeling myself to receive some criticism about the afternoon's proceedings.

"Would you like to go out for a drink?" he asks. I gape, taken completely off-guard. Hastily he adds, "Not as a date or anything. You're my client, I'm your lawyer – I can't ask you out. I mean, I can, but it wouldn't be a good idea. But I know you're new to the area and I thought maybe you could use a friend to talk to, and…I'm rambling."

"Oh," I reply, still surprised, but touched by his gesture. "That's really thoughtful." I smile at him for a moment and he begins to put on his coat. "But I can't tonight." He nods his acquiescence before I add, "I have someone waiting for me at home."

He grins. "A cat?"

I shake my head, rolling my eyes at him. "No."

"Dog?"

"Nope."

"Collection of rare and dangerous exotic pets you smuggled into the country illegally?"

This makes me laugh out loud. "No! I have a houseguest," I reply before my conscience pricks me. Jacey is so much more than a houseguest. "I've been seeing someone long-distance and he's here to visit over spr—" I stop quickly, but not fast enough to cover what I was about to say.

"Spring break?" Mike asks with obvious amusement. "Please tell me he's a professor." I slowly shake my head and now he's the one who's laughing. "A college guy? Wow, Jack – guess it's a good thing I wasn't asking you on a date. I'm clearly much too old to be your type."

I scowl a bit as we walk together to the bank of elevators. I've never been particularly good at being teased. Rather than make a retort that will paint me as a poor sport, I remain silent. Mike doesn't know Jacey at all - he has no idea how sweet he is, how caring and mature and intelligent he is. What he did for me this morning…what he does to me every night.

After the elevator doors close and we begin the descent to ground level, I tell Mike, "Jacey and I will be going out to the clubs one night this week – probably Thursday. Why don't you join us? You can meet him."

He considers for a moment before nodding. "Sure," he replies. "I haven't been out in a few weeks."

"Great," I reply, feeling a bit smug. Once he meets Jacey he'll understand what the draw is.

Beside me he mutters with a snicker, "Jacey? Really?"

-o-

Before long I'm walking up my street. The days are getting longer and longer. This past Friday when I got home the sun was just slipping over the horizon, but as we moved to Daylight Savings Time this weekend, this evening is still quite light. The snow banks have dropped considerably in the last week, with a stretch of mild sunny weather. I'm glad to see them go, knowing the first day of spring is only a week away.

I don't stop to pick up dinner as I normally do, having gotten a text from Jacey partway through the afternoon that he's looking after it. I wonder what he's ordered for me. Suddenly my stomach growls and it seems like it's been ages since lunch.

I open the door to my apartment and step in, quietly closing it behind me. An utterly appetizing aroma fills my senses and my mouth immediately starts to water. I stand in the foyer for a moment silently listening, attempting to ascertain where Jacey is. For a moment the only sound is the music playing from my stereo, though it's not my iPod currently sitting in the dock - it must be Jacey's. The dining table is set for two. A moment later I hear some movement in the kitchen.

"Jacey?" I call as I remove my shoes. A second later he steps out of the kitchen, a warm smile on his face.

"Hey, Jackie," he greets me. "Welcome home."

"Welcome home is right!" I agree. "It smells fantastic in here." I hang up my coat and cross the room to greet him properly.

After a tender kiss and a hug, he says, "You smell a pot of spicy Texas chili. Slightly modified to be meatless."

"You cooked?" I gape.

"Didn't you get my text?" he asks with surprise. "I mean, I know you didn't text back but I figured you were just in the thick of it…"

"No, I got it," I assure him. "But when you said you'd look after dinner, I thought you meant you'd look after picking it up."

"No, no," he says with a slight scoff. "Tonight's not a takeout night." He punctuates his point with a firm shake of his head. "This is a comfort food night." He turns and strolls back to the kitchen and I follow him. On a baking sheet, biscuits are waiting to go into the oven, which Jacey now turns on to preheat. Cheese is grated in a bowl; in another bowl is what looks like sour cream.

"Jacey, this is…" I struggle for an appropriate adjective. He beams, and I pull him close. "Thank you," I whisper.

"You're welcome," he murmurs before my lips meet his. We kiss softly at first, then with a growing intensity. I back him up to the counter and he pulls himself up to sit, wrapping his legs around me and pulling me as close as the cupboards allow.

Too soon, the slight hum the oven makes when heating up, falls silent. I pull away slightly but keep my forehead resting against his. We're both breathing heavily, and Jacey grins. "Wow."

"Hold that thought," I tell him, and lean to open the oven. I slide the baking sheet in and close the door. "How long?" I ask, my finger poised over the timer.

"Set it for twelve and I'll check them," Jacey replies. I do, then move back to stand between his knees. As much as I would love to pick up where we left off, he has gone to far too much trouble for dinner to be ruined because I can't keep my hands to myself.

Changing the subject, I remark, "I didn't know you cooked."

"I've been cooking since I was old enough to be trusted with the stove on my own," he replies, curling one finger as best he can into my close-cropped hair. "Mom didn't usually close the shop till six on weeknights. From the time I was thirteen or so, I'd come home and do my homework, then I'd get dinner started. Easy stuff at first – baked potatoes, frozen stuff. Until I started to get sick of those things and decided to learn how to cook for real."

I'm in awe. Growing up with a stay-at-home mom, I could barely boil water when I went off to college. "You came home and had the discipline to do your homework every night? And then made dinner?"

He shrugs nonchalantly. "We were a team. If I didn't start dinner Mom had to, and then we'd be eating late. We both get grouchy when we're hungry. I was cooking to save lives." He grins at the exaggeration. "Tonight I just wanted to take care of you," he adds. His slender hands gently cup my face. "How are you doing?" he inquires kindly.

I sigh. "I'm doing okay. I called my Mom at lunch and she was pretty emotional, which made it difficult for me to keep it together. But she loved the flowers. She's going to take a picture and email it to me - she probably already has, in fact." I stroke the long hair that rests against his neck. "Thank you, Jacey. For arranging the flowers, and for being here for me this morning. If you weren't here I'd have been a complete mess."

He doesn't reply, just pulls me tight to him again and, as he's still sitting on the counter, he rests his cheek on the top of my head. My head nestles perfectly into the spot under his chin. Silently we hold each other for long moments until the timer beeps.

"Dinner time," Jacey remarks quietly and kisses my head before I pull away. He hops down and puts on an oven mitt, opening up the oven to check the biscuits. "Perfect," he comments, more to himself than anything.

"What can I do to help?" I ask.

"Um…well, I guess you can get whatever you'd like to drink, and would you mind pouring me a glass of ice water as well?"

"Sure," I reply, looking after his request as he pulls a green salad out of the fridge. He pours vinaigrette over it and places it on the table. Looking down, I realize that an oily vinaigrette and chili will spell doom for my bright white dress shirt or my light blue silk tie, if I spill. "I'm going to go change before I eat," I tell Jacey.

"Probably a not a bad idea," he says with a smile. I head to my room where I hang up my suit and tie, and toss my shirt into the laundry. I doff my briefs as well, then slip on a pair of board shorts and a t-shirt. I have steam radiators and it is always warm in my apartment – often too warm, in fact. Shorts have become my usual at-home attire, even in the dead of winter.

By the time I return to the dining room, a large pot sits on a mat in the middle of the table, billows of steam rolling from it. The biscuits are on a plate and the cheese and sour cream are ready, as is the salad. "Jacey, this smells amazing. Thanks for making it. And thanks for making it vegetarian."

"My pleasure," he smiles. "But if my mother ever hears I made her chili without beef, I'll deny it."

I chuckle. "Understood. Shall we?"

The chili tastes even better than it smells. Jacey wasn't kidding on the spicy part – fortunately I love spicy food – but the sour cream helps balance out the heat. It is, as Jacey said, a comfort food, and even more comforting is his thoughtfulness in looking after me. He holds up the conversation during dinner, asking about the project in which I'm immersed at work. I tell him as much as I can within the bounds of confidentiality, adding, "Originally we intended for the project to wrap up on Friday, but I'm actually hoping we'll finish Thursday. It'll mean knocking ourselves out all week, but it would be great to have a lighter day on Friday. And then next week I can start what they actually hired me for – brokering."

"You really love what you do, don't you?" he says, more of a statement than a question. I nod. "You're fortunate to have found something you love. My mom is the same way, especially since she has her own shop. She says it doesn't feel like a job to her."

"It's definitely a job to me," I clarify, "in that I keep it separate from my personal life. But it's exhilarating."

"Exhilarating? Really?"

I can't help laughing at his highly skeptical expression. "Yes, really," I grin, reaching out to quickly squeeze his hand. "Taking a calculated risk and having it pay off is a huge high. A legal one, at that. And the bigger the risk, the bigger the payoff…the bigger the high."

He looks into his bowl of chili, stirring slowly as though deep in thought. I watch him for a few moments, eating in silence, before I ask, "Did I say something wrong?"

He looks up, a bit taken aback. "No, you didn't. Why?"

"You're very quiet all of a sudden."

He resumes gazing at his chili. "Oh. Just thinking."

"Yes?" I prompt.

"Well…I was wondering…about taking risks. Is that only in your work life?" he asks hesitantly.

The question takes me off-guard. My first reaction is to be coy, act like I don't know what he's getting at, but immediately I realize Jacey deserves better. "Um…are you asking whether I take risks in my personal life as well?"

His eyes are still glued to the bowl. "Yeah, I guess I am."

"Well…" I give thought to the answer. "My personal life is a bit different. A lot different, actually. I haven't taken many risks in my personal life. Risk is…daunting."

"Is that why you decided against telling Ashton how you feel?"

I shake my head. "That's different. It would have been a disaster. Ashton's straight – there's no way it would have resulted in a happy ending for anyone, and the outcome would certainly have been a strain to our friendship. I never even considered making that mistake."

"So you don't regret not telling him," he concludes. I shake my head decidedly. "Even though the payoff could have been a huge high, as you said?"

"Remember I also said calculated risk," I remind him. "That means being circumspect." He nods slowly. "What about you?" I ask brightly, attempting to infuse some humor into what has become a very serious conversation. "Any big scary choices in your life?"

He finally looks at me with a half-smirk. "I'm here, aren't I?"

I respond with a weak smile. We hold each other's gaze for a few beats longer, then with a cheerfulness I don't feel, I say, "Well, I'm stuffed. All done with your bowl?" He looks down at his dishes and nods, starting to get up. "Since you made such a great dinner, I'll do the dishes," I tell him. He starts to protest but I insist. "No way. Let me do this. Shoo!" I slap him gently on the ass. He winks and starts away but I catch his wrist, stopping him. "Hey – thank you. Dinner was great, and it was really nice to be taken care of." He smiles, a genuine smile for the first time since we started dinner. "You really are a sweet boy. My sweet boy. I'm glad you took the risk," I finish simply.

"I am too." He presses my knuckles to his lips before smiling and turning to head to the living room. I hear the music stop and the TV turn on just before I start the water running in the sink. It takes me a few minutes to put some leftovers into a small plastic container to take for my lunch tomorrow, and the rest into a larger one to put into the fridge then to wash up the few dishes we have. I ask Jacey if he wants some tea, and I end up making a pot for the two of us. I don't drink coffee at night as it makes it difficult for me to sleep but a cup of chai is one of my favorite things. A few moments later I carry a tray with the pot of tea, a couple of cups, milk and sugar to the coffee table.

Jacey is sitting on the couch with his sketch pad. The TV is on Jeopardy, of all things. Jacey is murmuring the answers a second before the contestants do. He glances up at me and when he sees me watching him with amusement, he looks a bit sheepish. "Sorry…Jeopardy. Guilty pleasure."

I laugh out loud now. "I had no idea!"

"You can change it if you want," he grins.

"No way," I reply, sitting beside him and pouring the tea into our cups. "I wouldn't miss this."

Over the rest of the half-hour, Jacey impresses me. He seems to be a font of information on a variety of subjects. What's cool is that this I the first time I've seen this side of him. It's not as though he walks around spouting factoids. When Jeopardy is over we watch a few more shows, usual primetime fare, chatting throughout. There is no hint of the uncomfortable conversation we had at dinner. He continues sketching and I sneak glances at his sketchpad. To my disappointment he doesn't look to be working on the sketch of me any longer, but just on random doodles instead.

Around 8:30 he gets up, setting his sketchpad on the table and sauntering out of the room. I assume he's on his way to the bathroom, but when he hasn't returned by 8:45 I get up and head down the hall. There's a light on my bedroom; it looks like my bedside lamp. I get as far as the bedroom door before I'm stopped in my tracks.

Jacey is standing in my front bay window, looking out into the street. His shirt is gone. He's wearing jeans and…I gulp…the cowboy hat. He turns to face me, a mischievous grin on his face, and something glinting silver catches my eye – an enormous belt buckle.

I give a low whistle in appreciation. Jacey hooks his thumbs into the waistband of his very low-slung jeans and – it can't be called anything else – moseys towards me. There's a necklace of some sort around his neck – no, it's a bolo tie, but the sliding piece is all the way down to the ends of the string so it looks like a necklace. A few feet away, he stops, shifting his weight to one hip, and raises his hand, with one finger pushing his hat back a bit from under the brim. In the broadest Texas accent ever, he drawls, "I think it's tahhhm to cowboy up."

"Jesus fucking Christ," I mutter under my breath. "That's…"

"Yeah?" he prompts, his character slipping marginally.

"That's the best goddamned thing I've ever seen. No exaggeration."

"Then you've never seen yourself in a suit, all ready for work," he retorts with a grin, the machismo dropped entirely now. "Because that's the best thing _I've_ ever seen."

I trace my fingers down his smooth abs to the dark shadow of hair that is just visible at the top of his jeans. He hums softly and closes his eyes, focusing on the sensation. "Where did you get this belt buckle?" I ask in an undertone.

"Won it," he answers, his eyes still closed as my fingers continue a slow exploration behind the waistband of his jeans.

"Like, in a rodeo?" He nods wordlessly. "What event?"

"Steer wrestling," he answers, and abruptly he grabs me, lifting me from my feet and tossing me onto the bed. The movement is so quick I'm on my back almost before I realize what's happening. He pins me down to the bed – not that I'm trying to escape – with a hand on each of my biceps, his thighs straddling my own, and hovers over me. His blue-grey eyes smolder as he stares into mine. The abrupt shift in the atmosphere leaves me breathless and excited.

He removes his hands from my arms and sits back on his heels, his hands finding the laces on my board shorts. Very quickly he removes them, discovering my commando state. His face lights up and he slides his body a bit closer to my feet before leaning down to take my rapidly-hardening cock into his mouth.

"Uhhh," is my eloquent response to his very welcome attack. He works his magic on me with those lips that look exquisite wrapped around my rigid length. I pull off my shirt and now I'm completely naked beneath him. His hands slide underneath me, his palms splayed open as he kneads my ass and then caresses the backs of my thighs. His tongue does amazing things to my glans and frenulum, and all the while the straw cowboy hat sits atop his head, the soft waves of hair flowing from beneath it.

He releases me, flashing a wicked smile, and gets up to stand beside the bed. His hand slides down over the front of his jeans, squeezing his very obvious erection. Slowly he undoes the enormous buckle and slides the belt out of his jeans. He loosens one button at a time until the jeans fall to the floor, no longer able to stay on his slim hips. He, too, is naked beneath his jeans; his cock, once free, stands rock-hard at a ninety-degree angle from his body. All he's wearing now is the hat and the necklace-tie thing.

He leans down to pull a condom and lube out of my night table drawer then climbs up onto the bed to kneel beside me. After sheathing me with the condom he lubes us both thoroughly. There can be no doubt what he's planning. He straddles my hips and positions himself over my cock. Not breaking our gaze, he slowly but steadily pushes down without pausing until I am fully inside him. When he has relaxed his legs and his weight is fully resting on me, he places his hands on my pecs and starts to rock back and forth. The sensation is beyond amazing, and what's more, I'm completely getting off on him taking charge like this. I mean, sure we've had sex in this position before, but him tossing me onto the bed was totally unexpected and so fucking hot.

Each time his hips thrust forward his cock bobs over my stomach. I can't leave it there, all by itself. I grab the lube and squeeze a bit into my hand. I slide my slick fingers around the base of the glans, and up and down the underside of the shaft, teasing gently. Above me I feel Jacey's ass muscles flex a few times, an involuntary reaction to the teasing of his hyper-sensitive skin. He emits a few soft moans when I glide over one or two sweet spots.

After a few moments, though, he takes hold of my wrists and moves my hands to his hips. He adjusts the angle at which he's moving, beginning a more up-and-down motion, and my hands on his hips pull him down hard against me. I bite my tongue against my usual tendency, which is to be pretty verbal during sex. This has become Jacey's show - he's the one in control. I find myself hoping that his new confidence will extend to some dirty talk, because I would enjoy hearing it. So much.

The increased force of our joining certainly elicits louder sounds of pleasure from us both. We each have a light sheen of sweat covering us from the exertion and pleasure. The pendant that hangs from the black cord around Jacey's neck, slaps against his chest each time he plunges down over me and the hat stays in place. My hands are still on his hips and so his own hands come up to stroke his cock.

Then, just when I'm starting to think my hopes won't happen, he starts talking. So softly at first that I can't understand him, but with increasing volume and confidence as he continues. "Jackie...ohhhh...you're so hard...I love it when you're inside me...you stretch me so well..."

Of course, hearing it accelerates my already-fast-approaching point of no return. "God, Jacey...you're so fucking amazing. I don't think I can hold back much longer..."

"Don't hold back. Just tell me when you're going to come," he urges, grasping his cock more firmly and stroking it with a twist of his wrist.

Only seconds later I warn him that I'm right on the edge. He quickly reaches out with his free hand to pinch my nipple, and then the edge is just a memory as my pleasure explodes into a million dancing sparks around my body. He's still slamming his ass down hard, milking me with his hot, tight embrace. I know he's coming when his body stiffens and he begins to spasm around me. His hot cum lands on my chest and shoulders. He cries out loudly, unintelligible. He is no longer capable of keeping his rhythm, and so, gripping his hips tight, I thrust up into him a few more times, prolonging his pleasure and mine. One last deep, hard thrust, and we both hold there for a long moment, until we collapse simultaneously into a sweaty, panting heap.

I pull out but hold him close, not letting him slide away or even off my chest. I do remove his hat and, reaching up over my head, hang it off the post on my side of the headboard. "Thank you, Jacey," I murmur, hugging him tightly. He simply hums in reply. We are completely satiated and exhausted.

After a few minutes I say, "Hey, let me up, I'll get us something to clean up with."

"No," he disagrees, pushing himself up. "That's my job tonight. You stay there."

I hope up my hands in surrender. While he's in the bathroom I dispose of the condom and then lie back to wait. He returns with a warm wash cloth and a soft towel. He cleans my chest and shoulders, though he does allow me to dry myself off. When I'm clean and dry he climbs back into the bed, pulling the covers up over both of us.

I turn out my bedside lamp and we settle in together, sliding into the position that has become natural to both of us – me on my back, him snuggled into the crook of my arm, his head on my shoulder. I'm so relaxed and tired that I know I could drift off easily, but before I do...

"Jacey?"

"Yeah?"

"You make a seriously hot cowboy."

"Thanks."

"Did you really compete in steer wrestling?"

"Jack, until I turned 17 I was 5'5" and weighed 120 pounds soaking wet. So...no."

I consider that for a second. "Regardless, you're pretty amazing in the saddle."

"That was a little scary for me, actually," he remarks. "Well, not scary...but I've never taken control like that. It was..." He struggles for the right words. "I guess you could say it was a calculated risk."

His words bring back the discomfort of tonight's earlier conversation, but only for a brief moment; because it says a lot that he felt comfortable enough to take this risk with me. "Calculated risk...huge payoff...huge high, am I right?"

I feel his facial muscles flex into a smile, and his arm that lies across my chest squeezes me tight. "Good night, Jackie."

"Night, Jacey."

-o-

**Thanks to lovelypenguin for the visual created by the expression "cowboy up". Ohhhhh, yeah. I wracked my brain for an appropriate song for this chapter, but as I am not a country music fan...and most songs about how sexy cowboys are, are sung by women...I had to go with "You Can Leave Your Hat On" by Joe Cocker. I've posted the Jacey-in-cowboy-hat pic on my blog before, but it's there again. You know, for ease of reference. :) **

**I seriously intended to have the ringtone question solved in this chapter, but the dinnertime conversation seemed to preclude such capers. Jacey has a mind of his own. Next chapter, I PROMISE. **

**As you may know, Shannon mozzer0906, recently resigned from the Fictionators blog and took a step back from the fandom. Despite the lack of public presence, she's still one of my biggest supporters and best friends. She was my muse for OTT – it wouldn't have been the same without her. xoxo**

**Thanks to my lobster Bethie, AKA EJ Santry, who is my one-woman preview team for Deep Dish. Love and smooches. 3 **


	10. Chapter 10

**Wow, what a reaction to last chapter! Not only the hot cowboy sex...erm...um...where was I going with this? **

**Heh. Yeah. But also the reaction to Mike's teasing of Jack – wow. Thank goodness you couldn't get your hands on Mike, because I'm fairly certain he'd have had a new one torn for him by many of you. :) So protective of our Jacey! Don't worry too much about him, bbs – Jacey can hold his own. **

-o-

**Chapter 10**

_Jack_

Tuesday morning gets off to a far better start, with no unpleasant surprises, no shattering glasses or tears. Before I leave, I stand at the door of my bedroom, debating whether Jacey, who already woke briefly when my alarm went off, would want me to wake him to say goodbye. After a moment's doubt, I decide he would. I approach the bed and stand there, for a moment indulging myself in just watching him sleep peacefully, nestled down beneath the soft duvet in the bed where he tossed me last night. I lean over the bed and gently stroke his cheek. He stirs a bit and presses his face into my palm.

"I'm leaving for work now," I whisper.

"Mmm, okay," he mumbles, eyes still closed. "Have a good day." His lips pucker and smack gently a couple of times, asking for a kiss.

I oblige, tenderly kissing him, then murmur, "Bye."

"Bye," is his barely-audible reply.

After several days of warm temperatures, the temperature has dropped overnight and the wind is howling this morning. I decide that it's just too damn cold to walk to the L, so I stroll to the front bay window and press the remote start for my Audi. On the street, the car's headlights come on, showing me that it's now running and will soon begin to warm up. I get bundled up into my coat, scarf and gloves, and grab last night's leftovers from the fridge. By the time I get to my car the needle on the temperature gauge is just beginning to edge upwards.

The day goes well. We make a lot of progress, and it's clear we're nearing the home stretch on this whole thing. At lunch I step away long enough to call Jacey and ask him not to make plans for dinner. I want to take him out for dinner, and then I have something special planned. I want to show him how much I appreciate him – both for what he did yesterday and for his simply being here with me in Chicago this week.

I don't tell him of the special plans, though. I just tell him I'd like to take him to dinner. He sounds delighted. "I'd love that! How fancy? What should I wear?"

"Well..." I mull that for a few seconds. "Not jeans, but not formal. Pants and a sweater should be fine."

"Is it downtown?" he asks.

"Yeah, a place my supervisor told me about. Why?"

"Well, you're already downtown. It doesn't make sense for you to come home, then go all the way back downtown. Why don't I take the L down there and meet you?"

It sounds tempting, and I certainly wouldn't mind not having the drive both ways. "I'm wearing my suit, though; I don't have a change of clothes."

"I'll bring your clothes with me," he offers.

"Yeah, I think that'd work," I agree. "In that case, just come to my office and I'll change here before we go out. You could arrive for 4:45 or so; I'll let one of my assistants know to put you in my office."

"Okay," he replies, then his voice sounds mischievous. "Hmm, this should be fun, picking out your clothes."

"Whoa, wait a minute," I object. "I didn't say that..."

"Jack?" he says. "What's that? I couldn't hear you...Jack? I think I'm losing you..." I can hear him perfectly, and I suspect he hears me just fine as well. He's obviously hissing into the phone, emulating the sound of static. "Jack, if you can hear me, I'll see you at 5..."

The line goes dead. Punk.

I grab my cell phone and quickly text him. _You are in a mess of trouble, cowboy._

_We'll see_, is his nearly-instant reply.

Grinning, I send an email to Jenna and Susan, telling them to expect Jacey Dawes shortly before 5 today, and to please take him to my office to wait for me. As I head back to the boardroom, I can't help smiling at Jacey's playfulness as both his comfort level and confidence increase.

The afternoon seems to drag painfully. I check the clock often; every time, I'm frustrated by how little the hands have advanced since the time before. By 4:30 my foot is tapping repeatedly on the floor. More than once Mike peers at me, looking perplexed and curious. Finally, finally, 4:45 arrives and we begin to wrap up for the day, reviewing our progress and talking about what we'll work on tomorrow.

A few minutes before five we exit the meeting room, bidding Steven a good evening. Mike, as usual, accompanies me back to my office. On the way I mention to him that Jacey is waiting in my office, and so any confidential conversations he wants to have should wait till tomorrow. He looks surprised, then speculative, when I tell him Jacey's here.

I walk into my office expecting to see Jacey, but it's empty except for a garment bag that's lying over the back of one of my chairs.

"He's not here?" Mike asks curiously from the doorway.

"He has been," I reply, gesturing to the bag. At that moment I hear a loud burst of feminine laughter from the break room down the hall. I step out of my office and follow the sound, Mike close behind me.

There in the room is Jacey, surrounded by the Fab Five and a couple of the female brokers. They're all smiling and listening as he illustrates the differences in Texas accents. He's got them eating out of the palm of his hand – almost literally, in fact, as it looks as though he's come bearing a tray of pastries.

Jenna spots us watching from the doorway and says, "Oh, hey! There he is!" Jacey turns and when his eyes meet mine, the smile he flashes me is almost heart-stopping.

"You've met the Fab Five, I see," I tell him with a smile, striding into the room and joining the group standing around the table. I slide my arm around Jacey's waist, giving him a little squeeze of affection but keeping it office-appropriate.

"We're all ready to adopt him," Linda gushes. The older women in the group nod their heads, whereas the younger ones look as though adoption was definitely not what they had in mind.

I turn to introduce Mike, but realize he's still standing in the doorway. I turn back to Jacey and tell him, "Come on, you, before they demand my resignation and offer you my job." He blushes a bit, then waves goodbye to the women, telling them he enjoyed meeting them.

"Bye, Jacey!" The chorus follows us as we retreat toward the door.

In the hall I introduce Jacey to Mike, telling Jacey that Mike is the firm's lawyer. They shake hands with a simple, "Nice to meet you." It's not terribly enthusiastic on either side – but it's polite and civil, at least.

Jacey turns to me and says, "Your clothes are in your office, but I noticed the floor-to-ceiling window beside the door doesn't make it very private for changing..."

"No, that's true," I chuckle, feeling light-hearted now that he's here. "I'll take the bag to the executive washroom – it's private."

"What are you guys up to tonight?" Mike asks

"Just out for dinner," I reply casually, not wanting Jacey to suspect that I have more planned. I take Jacey's hand and we start to head towards my office. Andrew rounds the corner a few yards away, stopping when he realizes he hasn't met my companion. I introduce him and Jacey, and this introduction seems much more warm. Andrew seems a bit surprised but is very cordial. I hope he doesn't mind me having Jacey here.

After Andrew wishes us a good night, we continue on our way to my office. Mike comes in long enough to get his coat and gloves. He turns to Jacey and says, "It was nice to meet you, Jacey. I'm looking forward to Thursday night. Jack," he addresses me, "I'll see you tomorrow. Have a great night, guys." We wish him the same, and he disappears down the hall.

A few seconds after Mike leaves, Jacey turns to me and whispers, "What's Thursday night?"

I tell Jacey that I was thinking perhaps we could go out to one of the clubs Thursday night – something I wouldn't normally do on a weeknight, but it'll be nearly the end of the week, and I don't particularly want to spend Friday night, our last night together, at some noisy, packed nightclub.

Jacey agrees. "Sounds good. And Mike's going to go with us?"

I explain to him about yesterday, how Mike sensed something was wrong and how when he understood that yesterday was my dad's birthday, he was very sympathetic. Jacey listens thoughtfully, murmuring, "That was kind of him," when I tell him about Mike offering to take me out for a drink. I'm careful to highlight that Mike was very clear on our boundaries, that he asked me because he thought I could use a friend. No way do I want Jacey to get a false impression of where things stand between Mike and me. Not ever, but especially not tonight. "Mike is becoming my friend," I finish up. "I wanted my friend to meet my..." I pause, looking for the right word. 'Boyfriend' isn't it.

"Long-distance relationship?" Jacey offers.

I shake my head, realizing what I want to say. "My favorite person."

Jacey's beautiful lips stretch into a smile. "I'm your favorite person?"

"Definitely," I reply. We gaze at each other for a moment. I'd love to gather him into my arms right now; but knowing we're at my place of business holds me back. "I'm going to go change," I finally say, breaking the spell between us. He nods, watching as I pick up the garment bag. As I carry it to the door I remember that I have no idea what's inside it. "That reminds me," I mention, turning back to him. "So sorry to hear you were having cell phone reception difficulties this afternoon." I raise one eyebrow and give him a pointed look.

For his part, Jacey returns my look with wide eyes. He slides his hands into his pants pockets, his lips pucker and he starts to whistle softly. He slowly turns and walks towards the window, still whistling innocently. He is not even going to try to deny it. I have to turn and leave before I break out laughing at his studied nonchalance.

Ten minutes later I'm returning to my office, wearing the clothes he chose: black flat-front pants, and a sky-blue cashmere sweater. He even thought to include a change of socks and underwear, and for the socks in particular, I'm grateful. I feel like I stick out like a sore thumb in this sweater, though. Even though it's a reasonably pale color, it's still brighter than the neutrals I usually wear. It was a birthday gift from my mom last year - I'm intrigued as to why Jacey chose it.

He's sitting in one of my chairs, leafing through a magazine when I walk through the door. As soon as he sees me, the magazine drops to the table unheeded. "Wow," he breathes reverently. Having him around is incredibly good for my ego, I must admit. He rises from the chair and walks slowly to me, saying, "I knew that sweater would bring out your eyes but Jesus Christ, you're gorgeous."

"Thanks, sweet boy," I whisper in his ear, hedging against anyone walking past the door and hearing the endearment. "Let's get out of here so I can say hello properly."

Thank goodness for tinted windows. The second the car doors slam, we're in each other's arms, kissing, stroking, touching. It feels like a reunion, despite only having been away from him for about nine hours. He moans into my mouth and every time our lips part he tells me how sexy I am, how much he wants me. Fuck, I want him too...but I also know there's no way we can do this here, in the parking garage of my office. Tinted windows or not, it's simply out of the question. Plus, we have dinner reservations for six-thirty, and there's something I want to show him before we go to dinner.

Reluctantly, then, I pull back a bit, willing myself not to give in to his protests. "Jacey," I sigh, "we have to...not here..." He groans, but it's obvious he understands. He pulls away slowly and rests his head on the seatback behind him. I take a moment to catch my breath and allow some blood to return to my brain before starting the car. We don't speak, each of us concentrating on reining in our lust as I pull out of the garage and head east towards the restaurant on North Michigan. The restaurant, the Park Grill, is part of Millennium Park. The entire park looks pretty cool, but I particularly want to see the Cloud Gate, so far only having seen it in pictures.

At a stop light, I casually pull my smart phone out of my pocket. I continue my conversation with Jacey, making it look as though I'm simply glancing at an incoming email. In fact, I'm scrolling to his number in my address book and pressing "Call Jacey". I cock my head to listen, and a few seconds later a song plays softly from Jacey's phone, inside his coat pocket.

Jacey pulls his phone out of his pocket automatically when the music starts, but upon realizing what song it is he peers at it with confusion. "Oh...oh!" he says, realizing it's me calling him. "What are you doing?"

"I'm listening to my ringtone," I grin, amused and pleased at his choice – a recent remix of Lover Man by Sarah Vaughan.

He blushes deeply and silences the ring. "You know what it was?" he asks, sheepish.

My smartphone still in hand, I dial to the same song in my MP3 list and play the first few seconds of it. While he's still embarrassed, he also looks pleased that not only do I know it, I like it well enough to have it myself. "So you approve of my choice, then?" he asks hopefully.

"Love it." I slide my phone back into my pocket and reach the center console to take his hand, and he beams at me.

The parking garage is underneath Michigan Avenue, and the garage exit brings us up to street level across from the restaurant and sculpture. Though it's still quite cold, the wind, fortunately, has died down and the evening is pleasant. The expansive silver dome of Cloud Gate rises above the restaurant. We cross the street and the plaza, then stroll hand-in-hand up the stone steps to where the stunning, glossy sculpture rests in the middle of the park, reflecting the city and the sky around it. Being close to it is surreal. It looks like liquid mercury, impossibly suspended in time. The sky is so blue and the sculpture's surface so perfectly reflective that it is difficult, standing close, to see where the sculpture ends and the sky begins.

Jacey and I release each other, each taking our own path, meandering in silent wonder around the base and through the arch of the massive bean-shaped sculpture. The reflections change and distort with each small movement. There are others here, and yet not a word is uttered. Every one of us is stunned silent by its simple beauty. I feel like I could remain here for hours without tiring of gazing at the mirror world that plays on the sculpture's surface.

As I look up into the bean's navel during one slow pass under the arch, I see Jacey's reflection smiling back at me. Disoriented, I blink and look around me before I realize he's standing only a few feet away to my side. I smile and hold out my hand to him. As he joins me, he whispers almost inaudibly, "Stunning." I can only nod in agreement.

We stand together looking up into the navel for a few moments, till I realize I should probably check my watch. As it turns out, our reservations are in five minutes. "Hey," I murmur into his ear, which is already, conveniently, very close. "As much as I hate for this to end, we have dinner reservations."

Jacey nods slowly. As we begin to emerge from the arch, he reaches out with his free hand to glide his fingertips across the smooth surface one last time. I wrap my arm around his shoulders and lead him away, back down the stone steps to the plaza. He looks confused when we don't continue towards the street, but I explain, "This is the restaurant."

He grins. "Well, that's convenient."

Dinner is every bit as fantastic as Andrew told me it would be. We each start with a salad, then Jacey has steak and frites and I have mushroom risotto. For dessert we split a crème brulée. Jacey does the honors of wielding the spoon for both of us, discreetly feeding me tastes of the sweet, rich custard. It is sexy as hell.

By the time we're finished dinner, it's shortly after eight. I still have one more place to take Jacey this evening. We walk south on Michigan, past the Crown Fountain, which, though the water doesn't run at this time of year, still displays the faces of nearly a thousand Chicagoans on the surface of the two fifty-foot-tall towers. On the next block is a particular art gallery. It's open until 9 this evening and there's a current exhibition of the work of a Columbian artist. Though I know very little about art, I know what Jacey has told me - he loves contemporary Latin American art. I hope this particular exhibition falls into the category of what he likes.

Inside, we find that the collection in question is rather small and for a moment I'm disappointed that there's so little to look at – or at least, my untrained eye believes that to be true. Jacey, on the other hand, spends a full half-hour gazing at five paintings. Five. I spend about thirty seconds on each one and I've seen all I need to see. I make my way to a bench in the middle of the open floor and watch Jacey stare rapturously at the small collection. After ten minutes or so I get up and make my way to the gallery's gift shop, finding more there to interest me than in the gallery. Finally Jacey joins me, chattering animatedly about governments and political statements and the blending of techniques from different cultures. He follows me around the shop, barely stopping for breath. I simply listen, smiling indulgently as I realize how thrilled he is, how much of a treasure he believes this small group of paintings to be. Whether or not I understand the draw to the work, Jacey is happy. I really don't need to know anything beyond that.

After five minutes or so he seems to run out of words. He drifts away from me, moving around the shop on his own, coming to stop in front of a jewelry case. He stands staring for long moments. Finally I have to see what has caught his eye. Joining him, I ask, "Find something you like?"

"Hmm?" He blinks, looks at me, then looks back to the case. "Oh. Look at that." He's looking at a unique carving from what looks like a single piece of gemstone. The carving is a long tendril that curls around itself several times. The surface is shiny, almost black but the ends of the delicate curls, where the carving narrows to a thin tip, are nearly translucent green. The work that must have gone into that one unique piece is pretty impressive.

"Excuse me," Jacey beckons the employee. "What kind of stone is this?"

"It's jade," the woman answers pleasantly.

"Jade? Really?" I ask curiously. "I thought jade was used by the Chinese."

She smiles kindly. "Most people associate jade with China and Korea. In fact, it also exists in Guatemala. The Maya used jade in a variety of ways. It was very useful to them because it's an extremely hard stone, and they also viewed it as divine, even more precious than gold. They not only carved it for their ritual tools, but they used it to make tools for everyday use as well."

"Wow," Jacey replies. "Thanks for that."

"You're welcome. If you have any more questions don't hesitate to ask." She turns away, returning to the cash to help a customer.

We both gaze for a few moments longer, and then from out in the main gallery we hear an announcement. "The gallery will be closing in ten minutes." A sudden inspiration strikes me, but I have to get Jacey out of here and get far enough down the street if it's going to work.

"Guess that's our cue," I tell Jacey, slipping my hand into his. We leave the gift shop and gallery, heading back up Michigan toward the parking garage. We get partway up the street when I stop, patting my coat pockets. "Damn it, my gloves," I tell Jacey. "I must have left them on the bench inside the gallery."

"We'd better run," Jacey says, glancing behind us. "They're going to close soon."

"Tell you what." I hand him my keys. "We're already this close to the garage - why don't you go ahead and get the car, and you can drive it back here and pick me up." His eyes light up – he knows I don't often offer to let people drive my car. I hand him cash for the parking garage as well. He continues on towards the elevator to the parking garage.

Knowing full well my gloves are in the breast pocket of my coat, I hurry back to the gallery with only a few moments to spare before they close. Back into the gift shop where the employee asks, "Did you forget something?"

"I want to buy this," I indicate, urgently pointing to the carving. It's already in a small gift box in the display. I glance anxiously out the front window to make sure Jacey hasn't arrived. I don't want him to see me in the gift shop. The woman understands my anxiety and hurries to get the sale completed quickly. I decline a gift bag and simply slide it into my pocket.

"I think you made a great choice," she smiles, handing me the receipt, which I tuck into my wallet along with my credit card. "He seemed pretty taken with it."

"I hope so," I confess. "He thinks I came back to get my gloves. I want to surprise him." She nods her approval and I thank her before leaving the gift shop again.

My gloves in hand, I step out the front door of the gallery just as my Audi rolls up in front of me. Jacey starts to unbuckle his seatbelt, but I open the passenger's side door and get in. "Why don't you drive?" I offer.

He looks incredulous, but answers, "Sure, if you navigate."

Jacey is a good driver – appropriately cautious but certainly not intimidated by driving. He treats my car as if it were his own, and by the time he parks and turns off the car on the street in front of my building he's glowing with enjoyment. "I could get used to this," he enthuses.

I stretch my arms over my head. "Me too. I think a chauffeur is what I'm missing in my life."

Jacey takes advantage of the situation to quickly dive in to tickle my ribs, growling, "A chauffeur, huh?"

"Hey! No fair!" I yelp, shielding my ribs. His attack rebuffed, he tries for a moment more to reach my ribs again. When he finally gives up we both slump back into our seats, laughing loudly. Tonight Jacey has given me so many reasons to be happy – charming my friends and coworkers, sharing the Cloud Gate experience with me...he fits into my life here almost effortlessly.

"Come on," I tell him when we've caught our breath. "Let's get inside." Outside the car he laces his fingers into mine for the short trip into the apartment. Once inside, I kick off my shoes then head straight to my room, slipping the gift box into my night table drawer before Jacey can see it.

After hanging up my coat in the hall closet I turn to find Jacey standing before me. "Jackie," he murmurs, situating himself into my ready embrace, "thank you for tonight. I had an amazing time. The sculpture, dinner...the art gallery! Did you know that showing was there?"

"I went online, trying to find something I thought you'd like. You mentioned contemporary Latin American..."

His mouth opens slightly, his face portraying happy wonder. "You found it for me?"

I nod. "I'm sorry they didn't have more to look at. I didn't know how small the collection was—"

I am abruptly silenced by Jacey's fervent kisses. His fingers lace together behind my neck, locking us close. My tongue finds its way into his beautiful welcoming mouth; my arms wrap around his waist to pull his hips as tight to mine as I can. Rather than dragging him straight to my bed, I back him against the wall, holding him captive there, and begin a slow teasing descent down his neck. Little soft gasping sounds escape him when I hit a particularly sensitive spot; he whispers my name, encouraging me.

Our foreplay goes on forever. One item at a time, our clothing gradually finds its way to the hall floor, eventually paving a path from the closet where we started, to the soft, plush area rug on my bedroom floor. As each item is removed, the now-bare skin is explored with hands and tongues and lips, slowly, tauntingly. Even when I look deep into his eyes and take him, it is unhurried and transcendent – as much like a spiritual congress as a physical one. Two bodies shudder and undulate together, seeking, pressing, desiring. The seraph beneath me sanctifies our union with his murmurs of affection and encouragement; when he comes, a moment before me, he does so without a sound. His eyes closed, his mouth open in a silent scream, it is as though he is refocusing his energy back into itself. All at once I am drawn into that exquisite pleasure, and together we're lost in it.

Later, after he has kissed the rug burns on my knees and insisted on putting ointment on them, we lie together in my bed. Propped on pillows, I spoon him, relishing the feel of his smooth body resting against mine. I am close enough to my night table that I can simply reach behind me into the drawer without disturbing our position. I silently retrieve the small gift box and present it to him, placing it on the bed before him.

For a moment he neither moves nor speaks, then he picks up the box and holds it, turning it over in his hands several times without opening it. Just before he's about to pull the lid off, I close my hand over his, holding it closed momentarily. "Thank you for yesterday," I whisper. "Thank you for tonight. Thank you for..." I can think of a hundred things I could name individually. "Thank you."

I release his hand and after a short pause, he opens the box. The fine jade tendril lies on its bed of soft cotton batten. I marvel at how its delicate beauty belies the strength within, and remember the divinity some cultures believed the stone possesses, how precious it is. In many ways, a reflection of the boy now holding it.

Jacey is silent as he picks up the carving from the box. For the first time his fingertips explore it, gliding over the smooth, cool surface. He slides the curls over his baby finger, like a ring; he touches the fine-pointed ends. Finally, after long moments, he speaks. "I can't believe you did this."

I don't answer, soaking up his obvious, unspoken pleasure. Eventually he turns over in my arms and kisses me deeply. We slide down the pillows, deeper into bed, and there we fall asleep, each of us still clutching an inestimable treasure.

-o-

**Many thanks to OnTheTurningAway for her invaluable help with the Cloud Gate & Millennium Park geography! It wouldn't have been the same without you. :) Pics of the Cloud Gate sculpture (aka "The Bean") and of the jade carving are on my blog. **

**In the coming week I'll be contributing a Slash Author's Guest Recs submission to the TwiSlash Unveiled blog! Check it out for my favourite slash and non-slash Twific recommendations. **


	11. Chapter 11

**Gah. Sometimes it happens that an author has to wrestle with a chapter to get it down in print. This chapter was that, for me. I was also preparing for my youngest's birthday, which was yesterday. Between the two I didn't think I'd ever get it posted. I'm sorry for the delay; thank you all for your love and patience. Remember, if I'm late posting I'll always let you know on my blog. :) **

**Jack and Jacey's date in Chapter 10 was a huge hit – glad you all enjoyed it! **

-o-

_Jack_

Wednesday at work is much the same as the day before, the notable exception being that I don't spend the whole day watching the clock. When I arrive at work in the morning, my female coworkers assail me with questions about our date. I give them a quick summary, smirking at the chorus of "awwws" when I tell them about going back to the gallery to get the jade carving. I can't help noticing they weren't nearly as interested in my dating life before they met Jacey. It's clear he has them completely charmed.

When Mike tags along to my office at the end of the day, he is quiet and pensive. Several times he opens his mouth as though he's about to speak, but it takes a few tries before he finally does.

"It was nice to meet Jacey yesterday," he begins.

I smile. "He enjoyed meeting everyone here too."

"Did you guys have a good time last night?" he asks, his tone innocuous and conversational.

"We had a great time. We went to see the Bean, which was an experience. It's so...it's hard to describe. It's almost like being in another world." Mike nods in understanding. "And then we had dinner at Park Grill."

"Oh, that's my dad's favorite," Mike remarks. "They always do a great job there."

"The food was great. We both liked it," I confirm. "Then we walked down Michigan to an art gallery. Jacey's a fine arts student – did I tell you that already?" He shakes his head. "Yeah. So they were having a showing of a Columbian artist, and Jacey _loved_ it. He lost himself in these five paintings for half an hour." I recall it with an indulgent smile. I catch Mike's gaze to find him watching me with an expression I can't quite identify. "What?" I ask.

He smiles and shakes his head. "No, nothing," he replies. "I was just thinking...you're really smitten with him, aren't you? He's not just a casual relationship."

"He's much more than a casual relationship," I agree. "The problem is, we're so goddamned far away from each other, and for the amount of time we're able to get together we'll likely end up spending eleven months of the year apart." I sigh. "For the foreseeable future I can't see it changing. He's got two years left in his degree after this year." Again Mike's expression has me puzzled. Instead of asking again what he's thinking, I just raise my eyebrows at him.

"I had no idea," he replies to my unspoken question. "I feel kinda awkward now about teasing you on the age difference. I thought it was just a sexual thing. I'm really sorry, Jack. But let me say, now that I have a better picture of what he means to you, I'd like to get to know him better."

"Thanks, Mike," I reply, with gratitude and some surprise. "You really don't have to apologize, I wasn't upset. All the same, it's nice of you to say so." I reach out to shake his hand and he clasps mine firmly. "No harm done."

"Thanks. I've developed quite a knack for putting my foot in my mouth."

"It's okay," I assure him, adding with a good-natured grin, "I'm getting used to it."

He returns a wry smile. "I'm afraid recent events in my life have turned me into a bit of a cynic."

"You mentioned a bad breakup. May I ask what happened?"

He sinks into one of my office chairs with a sigh. "Oh, just a long, fucked-up story of dishonesty and co-dependence. I'll try to sum it up." He goes on to tell me about the relationship he had with a man who had once been his childhood friend. He alludes to some tragedy in the man's adolescent years that had left him with profound emotional scars, and that the man had moved away for college – to Seattle, no less – not returning to Chicago until last year. They rediscovered their friendship, each realizing the other was gay, and began to date. The man was living with friends, a man and woman who were taking care of him in the wake of the emotional breakdown that precipitated his return to Chicago.

I can't help noticing, as he tells the story, that he never mentions the man's name. I wonder if it makes the pain even worse to say the name, as it does for me to hear Ashton mentioned.

Mike continues, telling me how whenever he'd go to the house his boyfriend was staying at, he'd get all kinds of attitude from the man of the house. "I had no idea what his problem was, but I thought, whatever; it has nothing to do with me. I just wanted to be with...the man I loved." He looks at me then, his face contorted. "I fell in love with him. We started sleeping together, and it was amazing. I knew he had a lot of emotional healing to do, but I had time to wait. I was just _there_ for him, you know? I didn't push, but I let him know how I felt about him. Then one night, my boyfriend showed up at on my doorstep in only a pair of jeans – no coat or shirt, in bare feet in the cold. He was very upset but wouldn't tell me what was wrong; I had a feeling it had something to do with the people he was living with, but I didn't know for sure. Definitely, something happened at that house that he had to run away from it half-dressed.

"I told him he could run to me – that he could stay with me forever. I gave him my love and my support. I offered him my future..._our_ future." He scowls and continues on, telling me that the woman had died suddenly, hit by a car right in front of both men. His boyfriend was her medical proxy and was forced to make the decision to remove her from life support.

"And you know, when she died, he didn't even call me to tell me? I heard from him two days later, like an afterthought. The man I loved forgot to call me for three days – not even a quick call to let me know what happened and that he'd need to help his roommate prepare the funeral.

"After the service I thought I'd have my boyfriend back, or at least see him once in a while. He spent a lot of time taking care of..." He pauses. "Sorry, I know it's childish, but I find it nauseating to say their names...taking care of his friend. Until one night he came to tell me his friend was moving to Seattle and that he was going to move back as well. And as he's telling me this, I'm thinking to myself, _he's telling me what he's going to do. This isn't a discussion, he's not asking my opinion or asking me to consider going with him._ And then he tells me he's in love with the other guy.

"I told him, 'This is probably just a reaction to her death,' you know? I asked him not to make any hasty decisions so soon after going through that tragedy. And then..." Mike's face twists in pain. "He told me he'd been sleeping with the guy all along...all the time we were together, after I slept with him and told him I loved him. But the _way_ he told me – it was like it slipped out, like he never meant to tell me at all..."

By now I've sunk into the chair beside Mike. I can feel the horrified expression on my face as Mike tells me of his lover's betrayal.

"So I threw him out," Mike concludes. The silence settles in the room for a few seconds while I attempt to process the story.

Finally I speak. "That's possibly the worst breakup story I've ever heard," I tell him. "I'm sorry for what he did to you, Mike." I lay my hand over his where it grips the armrest of the office chair. "No wonder..."

"No wonder what?" he asks.

"That first day when we went to lunch, remember? You being Mr. Direct..."

"Oh yeah," he acknowledges. "Another unfortunate by-product of that fucked-up situation. There were so many questions I didn't ask because I didn't want to push him, thinking he'd tell me when he was ready if I was patient enough, caring enough."

"He took advantage of your gentle handling of him," I offer and Mike nods. "Not everyone is like him, Mike."

"No, I know," he acknowledges. "It's just hard to consider trusting anyone again. I've developed a social allergy where vagueness is concerned, I think."

"I can understand why," I reply with a sympathetic nod, patting his hand. We're quiet again for a moment before I look up at the clock on my wall. "Shit," I curse under my breath. "Mike, I'm sorry but I really need to get going."

He looks at the clock too and starts. "Wow, I didn't realize how long I'd been talking. Sorry to keep you."

"Don't apologize," I assure him. "I appreciate you telling me about it. It sounds like you can use a friend to talk to, too."

"Thanks for being a good listener." He gives me a wan smile as he puts on his overcoat. "What are you guys up to tonight?"

"Staying in tonight," I reply, putting on my own outerwear. "Actually, I'm supposed to be bringing home takeout. I'd better call Jacey and let him know I'm running late."

"Did you drive today?" he asks.

"No – took the L," I answer, scrolling to Jacey's number on my phone.

"You live in Lakeview, right?"

"Yeah, Roscoe, just off Halsted."

"I only live a few blocks north of there. Why don't I give you a ride?" he offers.

"Are you sure?"

"Definitely," he smiles. "I go almost right past your door."

"That sounds great, Mike," I reply gratefully. I press the button to call Jacey and grin as I imagine the Sarah Vaughan ringtone playing. When he answers I apologize for running late. He is very understanding and asks if I'd like him to step out to get dinner instead. "No, no," I assure him. "I'll stop at the Diner and pick it up. I'll order on my way home so it'll be ready. Actually, Mike offered to give me a ride – he doesn't live far from my place."

"Ah. Nice of him to offer," Jacey replies. "Okay, I'll see you in a bit, then."

"See you soon," I promise.

The ride home with Mike is relaxed; after our heavy conversation in my office we keep things on a much lighter note. He admits he's glad that the SEC stuff will be wrapping up this week. Things have gone smoothly, particularly this week, and we're well on track to finish a day early, as we hoped. He drops me outside the Chicago Diner where the food will be waiting, and wishes me a good night before he drives away.

-o-

After dinner, Jacey and I sit on the couch and he pulls out his guitar, strumming absent-mindedly as we talk. He asks me how my workday was, blushing when I tell him how all the women in my office were raving about him. He tells me about taking his sketchpad and pencils and walking over to the Lakefront Trail to people-watch and to draw.

A comfortable silence settles over us. He continues to play and I page through one of his pads – one from his freshman year, he's told me. It contains a lot of the Austin cityscape, things he sees on a daily basis around the campus and in his neighborhood. Occasionally he stops strumming long enough to tell me what a particular sketch is, or what was happening the day he drew it.

I don't recognize anything he's playing and I wonder whether he's just improvising, until he clears his throat and begins to sing. "Oh you delicate heart..." It's the song he sang to me on Monday morning when I was upset about my dad. I'd made an off-hand remark about him playing it on the guitar, and he told me he didn't know the chords. It seems he learned it in the last few days while he's been here by himself.

He makes his way through the lyrics. He doesn't have an exceptionally strong voice; as soft-spoken as he is, that isn't surprising. His voice _is_ sweet, gentle and has a hauntingly innocent quality that gives me goose bumps. As he sings he looks down at his fingers on the fret board, not making eye contact with me. He's clearly self-conscious, and I love that he's putting himself out on a limb for me. It really wouldn't matter to me what his voice sounded like – I'm just moved by his thoughtfulness. No one has ever done anything like this for me before.

By the time he finishes the last notes of the song I want to wrap myself around him. He finally allows himself a shy look in my direction. "Jacey, that was..." I begin, trying to find the words to express how I feel. He blushes and smiles broadly.

"Thanks, Jackie," he answers, already knowing what I mean. He sets the guitar on the floor, leaning the body of it against the armchair, and slides close to me, into my arms. Though it's still relatively early in the evening, it's been a long day for me, following a late night last night. It seems impossible that the week is more than half over already, that after tonight we'll only have two more nights to sleep in the same bed. Tomorrow night we'll be out late at the clubs, and then Friday is our last night – I have no idea what we'll end up doing. For tonight I want to hold my sweet boy in my arms and just _be_.

"Have I told you how glad I am that you're here?" I ask, stroking Jacey's hair as his head rests against my shoulder.

"Mmm," he answers vaguely. "You've mentioned it...but please feel free to repeat yourself."

-o-

Work on Thursday is a wrap-up day, tying up the loose ends with Steven and Mike. We meet with Andrew, and Steven gives his honest opinion of how Fortunatus management oversaw their brokers' operations during the time of Eric Yorkie's tenure. His assessment is very much in line with my own. Andrew accepts Steven's criticism with humility, acknowledging his own role in being too hands-off when it came to monitoring. To my relief he does tell Steven about the changes that have already been made since Eric's departure, clarifying lines of accountability and revising procedures for better operational oversight.

I'm glad Steven has broached the subject, because if he didn't I would feel an obligation to tell Andrew. I'm relieved not to have to.

When our meeting ends and Steven has left, the three of us start toward the direction of my office, but Andrew asks me to wait a moment. I tell Mike to go ahead and that I'll join him in my office shortly.

When Mike leaves, Andrew closes the meeting room door behind him and turns to face me, leaning casually against the door. "So Jack, how did you find working with Mike Newton?"

"It went well," I reply. "I was impressed with how he dealt with Steven. He answered all my questions and it didn't matter how many I asked, he always took the time to explain the legal aspects. I had no issues with him."

Andrew nods thoughtfully as he listens to me. "I believe you're aware that Newton, Stanley & Crowley are new legal representation for Fortunatus. It couldn't have been a worse time for us to decide to break with our prior law firm, but for a number of reasons, it couldn't be avoided. At the same time, there's something to be said for a situation like this one. It illustrates how your lawyer operates under pressure. The board has asked us to submit a report to them on the investigation. They'd also like a report on how things went with Mike, as he's the one who courted us and has been involved with the Yorkie situation. You have a better grasp of his abilities than anyone, I believe. I'd like to leave the responsibility for this report to you."

"Sure, Andrew," I reply. "Though, Mike will get a copy of the investigation report too, right? Perhaps I should submit a separate report to the board about Mike's involvement."

"Yes," he agrees, "that's very shrewd, Jack. Good plan."

"Okay. I'll get to work on it tomorrow."

"Actually, that's something else I want to ask you about – tomorrow."

"Yes?"

"You still have your boyfriend visiting you, right?" he asks kindly, to which I nod. "When does he leave?"

"He flies home on Saturday."

"I think you've worked your ass off this week, Jack. It was a baptism by fire, and you knocked it out of the park." I smile, grateful for his assessment, and he returns it. "I want you to take tomorrow off – no effect on your pay, of course. Spend the day with...I'm sorry, I've forgotten his name."

"Jacey," I supply.

"Right. Spend the day with Jacey and enjoy your weekend. Monday will be soon enough for you to start on the report. Hell, you finished a day early anyways."

"Wow, Andrew," I answer with surprise. "Thank you! That's very generous."

"You deserve it," he replies. "I'm thoroughly impressed, Jack, and I'm confident the board will be too."

"It was an interesting experience," I allow, "but I'm looking forward to getting back to what I love."

He smiles before allowing, "I almost envy you. I've all but stopped brokering since I started managing the sales staff. Oh, I have a few clients still, but some days I miss the thrill of really working the market." He sighs. "Well, enjoy your weekend. Come back on Monday ready to tackle it again."

He extends his hand and I clasp it in a firm shake, thanking him again. I leave the meeting room with a feeling of accomplishment and relief.

When I arrive at my office Mike is sitting, leafing through a magazine. He looks up and asks, "Hey – everything good?"

"Everything's great," I confirm.

He nods. "Good." He looks at the magazine again for a moment before asking, "So we're still on for tonight?"

"Definitely. I'm looking forward to going out and blowing off some steam. Do you have a place you usually go?"

"I like Sunny's, on North Clark," he tells me.

"I haven't been there yet," I reply. "Good music?"

"Yeah, it's good," he confirms. "Thursday is Retro Night. You know – we can party like it's 1999."

I chuckle. "Sounds great. And Andrew just gave me tomorrow off, so I can sleep in tomorrow. Want to meet outside the front door at eleven?"

"I'll be there."

"Oh," I add as something else occurs to me. "Are you...will you be bringing someone?"

"No," he replies.

"Okay. Well...maybe you can take someone home instead..." I suggest.

"Maybe," he smirks. "See you then."

I leave at five on the dot, anxious to get home. I told Jacey I'd make dinner tonight, and I plan to make a stir-fry. As I ride the train toward home, I consider how well things have gone this week, meal-wise. Jacey eats meat and I don't, but we've both been very accommodating of each other – especially Jacey making the meatless chili. Now that I have tomorrow off we have some more options for dinner – I could show him how to make spring rolls...and feed them to him...

I get home and Jacey greets me with a huge smile from the living room chair where he's sketching. After I change he keeps me company in the kitchen while I make dinner, insisting on helping me. I chop vegetables and he keeps an eye on the rice. By the time we sit at the table we each have a plate of basmati rice and stir-fried vegetables with oyster sauce. He has a chicken breast sliced up on his, I have tofu. Over dinner he asks me why I became vegetarian. I tell him how my entire family tried it out for six months when I was sixteen, and I was the only one who continued on. I fell off the wagon a bit in college when I didn't feel like doing the work involved in maintaining that lifestyle, but recommitted to it when I moved to Seattle.

I ask what he did today, and he tells me he went to do some shopping downtown. He picked up a few souvenirs, he says, one for his mom and something for his good friend and current roommate, Marty. The ubiquitous sketchpad made the trip with him as well, as he wanted to sketch some of the downtown architecture.

"Here," he says, standing up from his now-bare plate and grabbing the pad from the coffee table. "Look at this one."

"If this is what I think it is," I reply, recognizing it immediately, "it's not downtown." It's one of the giraffe sculptures on the street very near my apartment. I can see them, in fact, from my bedroom window.

"Nope, you're right," he confirms. "I've been wondering about that sculpture all week. I thought someone had emulated a John Kearney, but it turns out it _is _a John Kearney – right here in Boystown. There's a bunch more of his stuff around the city."

"Now that you mention it," I reply, "I've seen a moose sculpture downtown that looks like this."

"That's one of them," he grins. "I was thinking tomorrow maybe I'll go in search of a few of them."

"Want some company?" I ask, explaining, "My supervisor told me today that he was giving me tomorrow off, so if you don't mind me joining you..."

"Andrew gave you the day off?"

"Yeah. He said I deserve it...even though I've only worked there three weeks."

Jacey beams. "Jackie, you're too modest! That's awesome! He knows you rocked the SEC stuff."

"I guess," I reply, trying to remain humble. The truth is, I feel great about it. I know I took on something unpleasant that, nevertheless, had to be dealt with. I'm happy and relieved.

Jacey stands, holding the sketchpad and looking at me with pride in his eyes. I can't help myself – I'm suddenly filled with happiness I can't contain. I grab him around the waist, lifting him off his feet and spinning us around in the large open space between my couch and dining table. He shouts with laughter, wrapping his legs around my waist and holding on tight.

-o-

Right at eleven, we show up outside the club. We spent the early part of the evening at my place, watching Grey's together before slipping into the shower – again, together. In the shower, I went down on Jacey, throating his hard length repeatedly until he shot his load down my throat; then, in a stunning act of environmental carelessness, we let the hot water continue to rain down upon us as he did the same to me.

Now he's standing beside me, excitedly looking around at the people on the street outside the club. Under his coat he's dressed in black pants and a slim-fitting white dress shirt. Before we left the apartment I told him how fucking amazing his ass looks in these pants, and now that we're standing in the midst of a crowd, it seems the other guys here appreciate the view as much as I do.

"Hey," says a friendly voice behind me; I recognize it immediately as Mike's voice. Jacey and I both turn to find him standing there smiling. He's looking very handsome himself in his casual clothes, and it occurs to me I've never seen him in anything but a suit. He's wearing slim blue jeans and a simple grey ribbed t-shirt that's stretched tightly across his chest under his open coat. I know he's handsome – and not just in a 'from a certain angle' way, but in a really obvious way – but tonight he looks stunningly gorgeous. It would be nice if he could find someone to take home tonight.

"Hey yourself," I reply, grinning broadly.

"Hi, Jacey – good to see you again," Mike says. I can see he's making a point of including Jacey in his conversation, and I'm grateful for that. He really does seem to be a very decent guy.

Jacey seems pleased, too, graciously returning Mike's greeting before we all head into the club. I'm surprised at how busy the club is for a weeknight, but remind myself that I'm often alone in my assessment of what constitutes a "reasonable hour" on a weeknight. If not for Jacey, I wouldn't be here tonight.

This club is smaller than Spin, the only other club I've been to in Chicago so far, and much smaller than Spin or XY in Seattle. Nevertheless, the DJ is as good as Mike said and the drink special is on till midnight. We go to the bar first and Mike and I each have a few shots – Jacey, still being underage, sticks to ginger ale. I can't help noticing that Mike makes a particular effort to make small talk with Jacey, asking him about Austin and the university campus, as well as how he's enjoying Chicago. Jacey, anchored comfortably in the crook of my arm, responds in kind, replying to Mike's questions pleasantly and asking a few of his own.

Soon Mike gestures toward the dance floor and suggests, "Well, shall we?"

Jacey smiles broadly. "Come on, Jackie," he urges. We all head to the floor and enjoy gyrating to the music. As Mike said, it's Retro Night. The DJ plays songs from my high school and college years, and it's a kick to hear them again. Jacey is a great dancer, moving comfortably to the familiar tunes and brushing often against me. I pull him close and remind him of the first time we danced together, the night we met in Austin. He grins broadly and grabs my hips, rubbing his groin against mine briefly. Mike and I exchange an amused smile. Mike seems a bit less comfortable dancing, a little more reserved, but is enjoying himself nonetheless.

After several songs go by, I hear a voice shouting my name over the throbbing music. I turn to find Karl dancing nearby with a group of his friends. "Hey, Karl," I reply, and make a few quick introductions. Our two groups gravitate towards each other to form a single group.

"Haven't seen you around in a couple of weeks," Karl eventually remarks to me.

Jacey is a few people away from us now, unable to hear our conversation but watching us. I smile at him before telling Karl, "I've had company."

Jacey, responding to my smile, sidles up to me and turns, rubbing his back against my chest as he weaves in time to the music. I slide my hands down his arms and take his hands in mine, lifting our arms over our heads and grinding with him. As much fun as I'm having, I'm getting hot and dying of thirst. I lean to put my mouth close to Jacey's ear. "I need a drink. Do you want something?"

"Just water, please," he replies. It's clear he plans to stay here on the dance floor while I head to the bar. I eye Karl, wondering whether it's a good idea to leave Jacey here with him - not that I have anything to hide, but the last thing I want is for him to say something that will make Jacey uncomfortable. In the end I decide it'll be fine. Karl was the one who told me a few weeks ago that he wasn't looking for anything but a casual fuck. I think he understands that discretion is important to me; I don't think I have to worry about him saying something inappropriate to Jacey.

"I'm going to go get another drink," I shout to Mike.

"I'll come with you," he replies, and we head through the crowd in the direction of the bar. As I stand and wait for one of the bartenders to get to us, I watch Jacey on the dance floor. For someone who often seems so gentle, the passionate nature of his soul can't be repressed when it comes to art or music...or dancing. He moves beautifully, lithe and graceful, with the music. He catches my eye and sends a gorgeous smile my way, prompting a similar reaction from me. As much as I'm enjoying being out with him, I can't wait to take him home. Again I'm struck by how quickly the week is passing.

I feel someone press against my ass and turn quickly to find Sam behind me. "Jack," he says, tipping his head to one side. "It's so good to see you here tonight."

"Hey, Sam," I reply.

"I was beginning to think it might never happen for us," he smiles, licking his lips seductively. "Is tonight the night?"

"No," I answer. "I'm here with someone."

He looks at Mike, who's watching our exchange. "Oh. Sorry," Sam tells him, not sounding the least bit sorry.

"It's not me," Mike replies dismissively, turning to the bartender who's now waiting to take our drink order.

I nod in the direction of the dance floor, where Jacey is also observing what's happening between Sam and me. Sam follows my gaze, and Jacey waves at me. It's clear he understands that I'm pointing him out to Sam as my date, effectively turning down Sam's advances.

"He's new," Sam observes.

"He's from out of town." I, too, give my order to the bartender. When I turn back to talk to Sam again, he has already turned and headed off in a new direction.

Mike meets my gaze and rolls his eyes. "Some guys just keep turning up, like a bad penny," I remark.

"Sometimes," he replies. "Though there's someone I went home with a few months ago, and damned if I've been able to find him again..."

"You've been looking for him?" I ask.

The bartender brings our drinks and Mike and I each toss back a shot before he replies. "Well...I wouldn't mind seeing him again, yeah. I thought we had a connection...or something. I don't know."

I grab another shot and lift my glass to him. "Here's to finding him again." He smiles and raises his glass to clink it against mine before we drink our shots. "Come on," I tell him. "Let's go back. I want to take Jacey's drink to him."

We start back in the direction of the dance floor, but as soon as my eyes light on Jacey I stop. Karl is saying something to him, and the expression on Jacey's face is not a happy one.

Not at all.

-o-

**Oh. That's not good, is it. Chapter 12 will be in Jacey's POV and we'll get to hear what that conversation is about...and what comes next.**

**The Slash Awards nominations have been announced! Please check out the nominated stories at theslashawards dot blogspot dot com. Voting is open until March 21 so I encourage you to check out some of the stories you may not have read, before voting. :) **


	12. Chapter 12

**I'm so sorry for the cliffie in Chapter 11, but here I am, just a couple of days later, with the continuation – in Jacey's POV, as promised. A couple of important things covered in my a/n at the end, but they can wait until after...**

-o-

_Jacey_

"I need a drink. Do you want something?"

The club is hot, and Jack's offer comes just as I realize how parched I am. "Just water, please," I reply gratefully. He shouts something to Mike, who nods and breaks from the group to accompany Jack to the bar. I remain with the group of guys who joined us shortly after we started dancing. Jack seems to know them all.

I watch as Jack and Mike thread their way through the crowd to the bar. I have to admit to being surprised with Jack's friend. When we met on Tuesday at Jack's office, Mike was standoffish. Tonight he's been quite different. I don't know the reason for the change, but I'm glad for it. When Jack told me a few days ago that he'd invited Mike to go out with us I wasn't thrilled. I thought he was a little dry, honestly - he didn't smile or talk much. I also thought I'd have Jack to myself when we went out dancing. Now that we're here it turns out we're in a group situation anyways, so Jack having his friend along really isn't that big a deal. Mike's also been much friendlier tonight, asking me about school and seeming genuinely interested – not just making small talk. I still have a little nagging voice that wonders if his interest in Jack is more than as a friend.

At the bar, Jack is talking to another guy. The guy is standing very close to him and licking his lips. I grit my teeth and remind myself where we are – I've watched this shit happen in clubs before. Jack speaks to the guy and looks in my direction, as though he's pointing me out. I wave and Jack smiles; the guy with him does not. When Jack turns to talk to the bartender the guy simply walks away. Jack and Mike roll their eyes at each other. Obviously, whoever the guy was, he's no threat.

I sense someone close to me, and turn to find Karl watching me appraisingly. Since he's Jack's friend I simply smile at him, though what I'd like to do is ask what he's staring at.

"So you're visiting Jack?" he asks, and I nod. "From Seattle?"

"No," I shake my head. "I'm from Austin."

"Oh," is his only reply. We continue dancing and I glance up at Mike and Jack to see them toss back their shots. I'm starting to hope Jack returns soon - I can still feel Karl's eyes upon me and it's making me a little uncomfortable. A moment later I feel a hand on my arm and Karl is standing close. "This might sound like a weird question, but...does Jack kiss you?" he asks.

"Yes." Almost as soon as it's out of my mouth I regret it. I wish I'd told him it was none of his business; but the question caught me off guard. Karl looks surprised now, and maybe...jealous? "Why are you asking?" I demand.

His face hardens a bit before he replies, "I thought Jack didn't like to kiss." He turns away, moving towards the group he's with and effectively shutting me out of their circle. I look back in the direction of the bar. Jack and Mike are on their way back. My thoughts are racing a mile a minute. Karl's question _seemed _random and odd, but now it sounds like he's comparing my answer with an experience _he_ had with Jack. Instinctively I know that to be true, and it feels like someone punched me in the stomach. I suppose I knew Jack would be with other guys while we were apart but being confronted with the reality tonight is definitely not what I expected from the evening. I just wanted to dance and have fun with Jack. Instead, I'm being forced to face a cruel truth.

When they reach me a moment later, Jack hands me the water with a smile. "Having fun?" he asks. I don't answer, instead pounding back the ice-cold water until my head starts to throb. "Jacey?" Jack asks, looking concerned. I glance at Mike, who is watching me with a perplexed expression. I can't think of anything to say that would ease their concern. Even saying _I'm okay_ would be an outright lie.

"I'm not feeling well," I tell Jack.

"Let's sit down," he suggests, wrapping his arm around my waist and walking me toward one of the seating areas off the dance floor, Mike following. "Here," Jack says as we reach a banquette. We sit close together, him keeping his arms wrapped around me. I rest my head on his shoulder, willing myself not to cry.

Mike sits beside us. "Maybe you got overheated," he suggests kindly.

I don't respond, but Jack agrees with Mike. "That's probably it," he replies, smoothing my hair and kissing my forehead. At that moment I catch a glare from Karl, still on the dance floor. At once I realize I need to get the fuck out of here.

"I want to go home," I announce, abruptly pulling away from Jack and standing. Jack looks surprised by the suddenness of my action, but rises to join me.

"Of course," he agrees.

Mike walks out with us and signals for a cab. Jack and I will walk home as the club is only a block and a half from his apartment. "I hope you're feeling better, Jacey," Mike says before getting into the cab and driving off.

Jack, his arm still around my waist, says, "Come on, sweet boy, let's go. Maybe the fresh air will help you." I feel like laughing at him. Instead, the tears that have been threatening finally well up and spill over. Jack walks beside me and doesn't notice till we're on the next block, but when he does, he stops short, exclaiming, "Jacey! Are you in pain?"

"Not the kind you're thinking of," I reply, never breaking stride.

Jack has to run a few steps to catch up with me. "What do you mean?" he asks, mystified. "Jacey, wait – what's wrong?" I continue walking towards his apartment and he catches my hand, finally stopping me. He stands in front of my, both hands on my shoulders. "Jacey, talk to me. What do you mean? What kind of pain are you in?"

The tears are flowing freely now. "Jack," I gulp, "I think it's really shitty that we were hanging out with someone you're sleeping with." His jaw drops and I step around him, resuming my course toward the apartment. I really do not want to have this conversation out in the middle of the street with people around us.

Jack catches up with me again, this time not speaking. He tries to take my hand but I pull it away. We reach the building and he unlocks the front door. We ascend the stairs silently. He opens his apartment door and stands back to let me pass. I stalk past him, take off my shoes and toss my coat on the floor in the entryway.

Not bothering to turn on the lights, I walk to the window and stand looking out. Behind me I hear Jack pick up my coat and place it on a hook before taking off his own things. A moment later, he comes to stand beside me. "Jacey," he murmurs. "What did Karl say to you?"

I turn to look at him. His face is full of anxious concern. "So it's true," I remark. "You _are_ sleeping with Karl."

He sighs. "I've slept with him, yes." I nod wordlessly and return my gaze to the dark night outside. "You don't know how sorry I am that he felt the need to tell you," he continues. "I didn't think he'd be so indiscreet. I misjudged him, and you were the one to be hurt by it. I'm so sorry." He strokes my hair, and though his apology is genuine, he doesn't really get the whole picture, the real reason I'm so upset.

"I thought..." I attempt, trying to explain. "I didn't know you were sleeping with...anyone else..."

Understanding dawns on his face. "Jacey," he breathes. "We never said we weren't going to be with other people..._you_ said 'without being exclusive', didn't you?" He is gently candid. "Am I wrong? Did I misunderstand you?"

I can't deny that he's correct; I did say that when we had the discussion in January about keeping in touch. "You didn't misunderstand," I allow. "I just thought...maybe..." Even though my head knew that he had very likely been with other guys in the ensuing two months, in my heart I was harboring hope, however unrealistic, that he was holding out for me. He waits patiently, but I don't know how to explain what I'd hoped for, not without sounding unreasonable and possessive. "I don't know what I thought," I finish lamely.

"Aw, sweet boy," he whispers, pulling me into his arms. "The last thing – the absolute last thing I want to do, is cause you pain. I'm so sorry I hurt you." His voice is truly regretful. "It's my fault about Karl – we should have left. I shouldn't have put you in that situation."

"Was anyone else there on that list?" I ask.

His answer is immediate and unequivocal. "No."

"So...you and Mike..."

"Are friends, and nothing more," he answers firmly.

I nod, and gently pull out of his arms. He remains standing beside me, his hand stroking my upper arm. He watches me with pain and regret on his face. It's clear that he's genuinely sorry about what happened tonight. I can't lay blame on him for allowing myself to foster unreasonable hope. Nevertheless, I know now that I can't continue this way, subsisting on assumptions and unspoken feelings.

"We need to talk," I tell Jack.

"I think tonight has illustrated that a talk is overdue," he agrees. "Why don't we get into our pajamas and get comfortable? I'll make us some tea and we'll settle in."

Ten minutes later, we're in his bed, each with a mug of green tea. Jack leans back on pillows piled against the headboard; I lie on my side with my head propped on my hand. "Would you like to start?" Jack asks gently.

"Okay." I take a deep breath. "I realized tonight that we've done a lot of talking this week without really having any conversations about us. I mean, you've told me you're glad I'm here, and every time you tell me that my heart does flip-flops. But we haven't ever talked about our feelings. I really don't know, not with certainty, how you feel about me."

"You haven't told me how you feel about me either," he points out gently.

"You're right," I acknowledge. "I haven't. That seems to be the way of things with us, doesn't it? We're together – we have amazing, mind-blowing sex, we talk about our lives and our families...but not our feelings. You told me I'm your favorite person...but Jack, I don't really know what that means. Your grandmother could be your favorite person. My mom used to call the bakery lady at home in Kingsland, her favorite person. It feels like you're placating me without actually committing to anything real."

He looks surprised by my candor, but after thinking silently for a moment, concedes my point. "I hadn't thought of it that way, but you're right. It's not very specific. You are special to me, Jacey. I've never been in a relationship like ours. I've been in one actual relationship before – I don't think I've told you about it. I dated a guy in Seattle for about three months. It didn't work out because I just wasn't really into him. I was trying to make myself have a relationship, but really, there wasn't much there to build it on. With you, it's so different." He strokes my cheek. "What I feel for you is new to me. I'm not used to wanting someone and having them want me back, for anything but sex. I could easily build something with you...I want to spend time with you. I love waking up next to you and having you here when I get home at night." My heart begins to swell, wondering if he's about to make a declaration.

"The problem," he continues, "is that we're so far away from each other. It would be easy for me to get carried away, but I have to be realistic. You _do_ live a thousand miles away and that's not going to change. You have two more years of school after this one, and then who knows what will happen?"

"I'll be done school at the end of April. Maybe this summer..." I don't finish, knowing it might be too much for me to ask him if I can live with him for the summer if I'm able to get a job in Chicago. The invitation has to come from him.

"I know you want to stay close to your mom," he replies. I close my eyes, trying not to let my disappointment show. He sees it nonetheless, but misunderstands the reason for it. "We'll find a way to get together for weekends during the summer," he promises fervently.

I force myself to press on. "So in the meantime...our arrangement will stay the same, is that what you're saying?"

"Our arrangement?"

"We're together but we're not exclusive," I clarify.

"I think you're saying that doesn't really work for you," he answers slowly.

"Jack, I need to be honest with you – I haven't been with anyone else. Well, I've fooled around a little, but no sex. No one but you since we met. "

His eyebrows climb his forehead. "Oh, wow, Jacey. That's...I had no idea. May I...may I ask why?" I look down, embarrassed, and he adds, "I mean, perhaps I already know, but I don't want to assume...is it because of me?" I nod. "Oh, Jesus," he breathes. "Now I feel even worse about tonight." He sets his empty mug on his night table and slides down in the bed to be closer to me.

"The thing is, sweet boy...that was your decision to make. I mean, I'm flattered – and frankly a little blown away – that you were waiting for me. But...I didn't ask you to, right? We agreed that being exclusive wasn't part of our relationship. So I guess what I need to know is, has that changed for you? _Can_ you continue with the same agreement we had?" He reaches out to gently stroke my cheek again. "Before you answer, let me tell you this: You are so important to me, Jacey – so special, so precious. I've been with other guys and it's never been anything but sex to me – just seeking release. With you it's so much more. It's almost spiritual. We have a connection I've never had with anyone else. I know I _can _keep casual sex entirely separate from the emotion I feel with you, but I won't, not if it means hurting you."

"So what are you saying, Jack? What would you let go?"

He looks pained, and I know the answer isn't good. "It's okay," I tell him. "Don't answer. I already know."

He looks regretful. "It's just...being so far apart, not knowing when we'd see each other again, how often we'd be able to get together..."

"Don't," I beg, not wanting to hear the rest.

"I'm just being honest, Jacey," he says. I wonder how he can seem so saddened by his choice, and still come up with the same answer.

"I know. I appreciate you being honest, and now I have to do the same." He nods, looking like he's steeling himself for the worst. "I need to think. It's not what I was hoping for, Jack - I was hoping for more. I know I'm young, younger than you, but what I feel for you is so strong. You asked me seriously whether I can continue with our agreement, and right now I don't know the answer to that. So I need to think about it."

He nods slowly. "I understand. I don't want to lose you, Jacey, but I'll accept whatever decision you make."

I set my mug on the night table. "I'm really exhausted," I confess. "What do you say we go to sleep now and we can talk more in the morning?"

"Of course," he agrees. One at a time we leave to visit the bathroom and prepare for bed. A short time later he slides under the covers next to me. He turns out the light and for a few moments, he remains on his side of the bed, silent and still, until...

"Jacey?" he whispers into the dark.

"Yeah?"

He turns over to face me. "Having you right here with me and not touching you...it's torture. If it's not too much to ask...may I...would it be okay if I hold you until we fall asleep? I know it's selfish. If it's not okay, just say so—"

I feel like crying again. "Of course it's okay," I murmur, sliding immediately into his waiting arms. "You can hold me all night, Jack."

He holds me tight, pressing his lips to my forehead again and again. "Thank you," he whispers, and we remain that way, clinging tightly to what we have, until we fall asleep.

-o-

When I awake the next morning Jack is still holding me in his arms. I've slept far better than I thought I would after last night's emotional conversation. I know it's because I had Jack so close to me all night long. I'm already worried about how I'll sleep when I get back to Texas.

Jack is fast asleep. The clock shows it's just after seven. For the first time this week I get up first, tiptoeing out of the room and quietly closing the door. I make a pot of coffee, and as I wait for it to brew, I think about last night. As awful as the experience with Karl was, I suppose I should be glad that it forced us to have a much-needed conversation about our relationship. I'm not happy with the end result, but one good thing has come out of it: I feel like I have some power over my own destiny. Until last night I allowed Jack to set the pace of our relationship, but the ball is in my court. Jack was open about what he's able to do - at least now I know where I stand. I need to figure out what I can handle.

And that's the big question. I got hurt last night, but I have to accept some of the blame for that. I allowed myself to hope Jack had been celibate until I was presented with proof to the contrary - I should have done the opposite. If I'm to continue a relationship with Jack, I have to do it with my eyes open so I'm not ambushed again.

_I don't want to lose you, Jacey._ Jack's words from last night were so sincere. I don't want to lose him either. Can I go forward...wiser, more firmly rooted in reality...knowing that the truth is that Jack _will_ be with other guys while we're apart?

I sigh. What a bitch of a situation.

I pour a cup of coffee and turn to go to the living room, but I'm met by Jack, his eyes still bleary and his short hair as sleep-rumpled as it can be. He stops when he sees me, not coming close enough to give me a good morning kiss or a hug, as he would have done yesterday morning.

"Good morning," he says quietly. His hands twitch slightly at his sides, as though he wants to reach out but is checking his actions. I realize he's letting me set the tone, not knowing whether last night's conversation has changed the physical dynamic between us.

"Good morning, Jack." I set my cup of coffee on the dining room table and close the distance. As I approach, his arms open to me and his tense face relaxes; he embraces me warmly. I kiss him and rest my head on his shoulder. My feelings for him haven't changed. I still crave the safety of his arms and the softness of his lips.

"Were you able to sleep?" he whispers into my hair.

"I was," I reply. "You?"

He releases me, stroking my cheek before letting me go completely. "Not well," he admits, stepping past me into the kitchen to get his own coffee.

"I'm sorry," I offer, retrieving my coffee and heading to sit on the couch. A moment later he joins me, sitting close enough that his thigh presses against mine. He puts his arm around my shoulders and we sit and drink our coffee in silence. The sun has come up and is shining in through the east-facing living room window. Even the weak early sunlight feels warm, a restorative for a battered soul. The first day of spring is only a few days away.

"So," I begin, "what do you say to going out for breakfast before we go in search of some chrome animal sculptures?"

"Yeah?" he asks. You still want to spend the day with me?"

I turn towards him, bringing my legs up and across his lap. He looks surprised and hopeful. "Of course I do. This is our last day together. I don't want to let you out of my sight."

"Jacey," he murmurs, his eyes roaming my face earnestly. "Again, I'm so sorry for last night..."

"Let's not talk about it now, please," I request. "Not today. Let's just enjoy being together, Jackie; enjoy it while it lasts." He nods, closing his eyes and leaning to rest his head on my shoulder. "At least you have the day off," I remind him, trying to lighten the mood a bit.

"Yeah," he replies. "I'll have to take Andrew a latte or something on Monday morning, to thank him."

"So – breakfast?" I repeat.

"Whatever you want to do. I'm at your mercy." He shows the first hint of a smile I've seen this morning. It warms me to see the return of his good humor. Sad Jack is not a look with which I want to become familiar.

"Hmm, I could really take advantage of that," I tease, and his smile widens.

After showering and dressing, we head out for breakfast at a vegetarian café I found on Google. They have a great-looking breakfast menu and they're on Roscoe, about a mile and a half west of Jack's apartment. Breakfast is as great as it looks on their site. Throughout our meal the awkwardness ebbs. By the time we leave the café we're almost back to our usual easy conversation.

Throughout the day, everywhere we walk, we go hand-in-hand. Jack has brought his digital camera with him today and insists on taking some pictures – of me, of the two of us together, and of the places we visit. Despite the sunshine, the wind off Lake Michigan is chilly for me, a southern boy, and I wear a ski hat around downtown. Jack loves it, and insists on snapping some photos of me wearing it. We find several of the Kearney sculptures and I take some quick sketches of the animals and the surrounding buildings, intending to flesh them out another day.

By two o'clock I can no longer put off the errand I'd scheduled for myself today. I tell Jack I need to head back uptown, in the direction of his apartment, to pick something up. "It's not something you can pick up here?" he asks, confused.

"No," I tell him, "but I can't get more specific than that. Not yet, anyways."

"Okay." He looks mystified, but says, "Let's go get the car."

Half an hour later, at my direction, he pulls up in front of a custom framing studio. "Stay here?" I ask, adding, "I'll be back in two minutes." I run into the store where my pickup awaits. After checking the job the studio has done and paying, I return to the car with a large bag. He has caught on now, and though he doesn't know exactly what I'm up to, he simply smiles.

"All set?" he asks, and we head back to his apartment.

Inside, I stash my parcel in the walk-in closet in his bedroom until later. He has suggested making Thai food for dinner, and wants to teach me how to make vegetarian spring rolls. We spend the rest of the afternoon in the kitchen, cutting carrots, peppers, onions and other vegetables into tiny juliennes, and preparing the spring rolls. By the time the oil is heated, Jack also has Thai shrimp almost ready, with a spicy coconut milk sauce. The entire apartment smells amazing. Dinner is heaven, and there's something particularly satisfying about knowing we spent time together preparing it.

When dinner is over and the dishes washed, I finally ease Jack's curiosity about the item I picked up at the store. Instructing him to sit on the couch, I present him the bag. He wastes no time in opening it and pulling out the item inside.

"Oh..." he breathes, holding it up in front of him. "Jacey, this is amazing." It's the sketch of him, the one I promised he could have when it was finished. I completed it the next day and took it to the first framing store that could guarantee me it would be ready by today. It was sheer luck that they happened to be so close to his apartment.

Jack is obviously delighted with the sketch and the fact that I had it framed for him. "I thought you'd forgotten about it," he admits. "I had no idea you were going all out." He sets it on the coffee table and turns to me. Like this morning, it's obvious he wants to hold me, to kiss me, but is afraid he'll be crossing the line. "Thank you, Jacey," he murmurs, his eyes darting to my lips.

"Jackie," is my only reply before I lean in to kiss him softly – once...twice. The third kiss doesn't really end; instead it deepens physically as it builds in intensity. I move to straddle Jack's lap. He moans into my mouth, but it's different from any sound I've heard him make before. This is relief, gratitude...amnesty. No matter what else happens, last night is in the past, and I've made every effort today to let my actions illustrate that I'm not harboring a grievance toward him. Only now does he seem to believe it.

For a long time we make out on the couch, letting our hands and lips and souls reacquaint. It doesn't matter that it's been less than twenty-four hours since we had some fun in the shower. The events of those hours brought changes to our relationship, to the dynamic and understanding we've had. Tonight we are coalescing once again after upheaval.

When we finally make our way to Jack's bedroom, he pulls away and says, "Wait – stop for a sec. I need to ask you something."

"What?" I pant.

"I'm going to ask you this, Jacey - please answer me honestly. You need to feel free to say no; whether you agree or not, it won't change _anything_ between us, okay?"

Perhaps I should be alarmed at his words; but he seems so open, so guileless, that I feel no fear – only curiosity. "What is it, Jack?"

He takes a deep breath, and asks, "Will you top me?"

-o-

**I know I've referred to my lovely friend Beth as my previewer; really, she's much more than that. I sometimes need a trusted friend with whom I can talk out plot points, especially when something is giving me trouble. Beth has been there to support me through those times with DD, to bounce ideas and offer suggestions to "grease the wheels", and for that I am truly grateful. **

**I also want to tell you how I feel about the characters Ethan and Jayden that Trish/DefinitelyStaying created in HoC. Several of you took the time to tell me in your Ch 11 reviews that you're sorry for Mike, but glad ExJ got together in that story. Please believe that I'm there with you. I'm writing Mike's views on his prior relationship; his perspective as the scorned lover is very different from ours as the readers who understood the relationship E&J had in Seattle and who believed they should be together. By extension, Jack's understanding of the situation will be coloured by the fact that Mike is relating the events to him. Please don't judge me too harshly for the way these characters view that situation; I hope you'll agree that their feelings would be realistic, given their perspective. **

**One more thing: I've gotten reviews and PMs asking why you can't find House of Cards on Fanfiction. The story has been pulled by Trish, who is reworking it for publication. For more info on HoC and its predecessor, The Forbidden Room, check Trish's website: www dot jpbarnaby dot com**


	13. Chapter 13

**Thank you so much for your reviews for Chapter 12. I understand your frustration with Jack; I share your hurt feelings on Jacey's behalf. A line from Brokeback Mountain keeps running through my head when I think about Jack and Jacey's conversation: _"You know, friend, this is a __god damn__ bitch of an __unsatisfactory situation__."_**

-o-

**Chapter 13**

_Jack_

Jacey's eyes widen and his jaw drops as he processes my question. "What?" he asks.

"I want to bottom. For you," I reiterate. As I wait for him to reply, I stroke his soft brown locks, thinking of everything that has happened between us in the past twenty-four hours, everything that has led me to this decision.

Thursday night was awful. I hadn't told him specifically I was with anyone else, partly because talking about having sex with someone else didn't seem very honorable, particularly for the other person's privacy; but I also didn't think I needed to state it. I guess I figured that, because it was implied by our agreement, he'd assume it to be true. I really didn't think he'd remain celibate all that time, or that he'd hope I would do the same. Seeing the pain on his face when he told me he knew...that was a bitter pill. Despite that I didn't betray the arrangement we had, the fact remained that what I did made him sad – something I never, ever wanted to do. It tore at my heart to know that my sweet, beautiful, sensitive boy was hurt by _my_ actions, and by my negligence in leaving him alone with Karl.

_Karl._ Jacey didn't tell me what Karl said to him, and I'm not going to ask again. It's obvious he felt the need to share at least enough that Jacey could put two and two together. After Jacey goes home, Karl and I are going to have a serious conversation.

When Jacey and I got home from the club last night, it became glaringly apparent that not talking about it sooner not only didn't protect him from the details, but it made him hurt even more when he did find out – from someone else, no less. Far too much remained unsaid between us until last night.

I assumed he understood how I feel about him. In retrospect, it was naive and stupid for me to think he would be able to see the difference between how I was with him and how I was with the other guys I've been with - how could he when our relationship has been so self-contained? We've existed in an odd bubble, almost separate from reality, since the day we met – like being on vacation from real life, with each other. Almost the moment we held ourselves up to the light, harsh reality intruded, showing us how few important conversations we've had.

So I had to tell him how I feel, how I love having him here, how I'd love it if he was here for my everyday life. I know he was hoping for me to suggest that he live here for the summer – I'm not completely obtuse – but I had to steer him away from it. I know he was disappointed that I didn't suggest it. I let him think that I had missed his cue. The truth is, I'm already feeling desolate about his leaving and he's only been here a week. If I had him with me for four months and then had to let him go back to Austin at the end of the summer...I don't think I could handle it.

That wasn't even the hardest part of our conversation. Admitting to him that I'm not prepared to remain celibate while he's in Austin was much more difficult, but I had to be honest. As much as I wished I could tell him what he wanted to hear, I could never be disingenuous to him. Again I had to watch his face as hurt rippled across it. I hate that this situation puts us here, so far apart; I despise that he's hurting over it.

As painful as the conversation was to both of us, we both came out of it knowing where we stand with the other. He told me honestly that he needed to think about whether he could continue with the agreement as it's been. I was so worried he would simply end the relationship and return to Austin, that him telling me he needed to think about it was almost akin to a stay of execution.

His actions since our talk have been encouraging; letting me hold him last night was so generous of him. Asking him for it made me feel like I was twisting a knife into him, but at the same time I couldn't help asking. He told me I could hold him all night; I took him at his word.

When I woke this morning and found my bed empty, I nearly panicked, until I thought to look in the corner of my room where his guitar has rested throughout the week. It was still there, so I knew he hadn't simply packed up and left. When I found him in the kitchen, I longed to take him into my arms as I would have before, but didn't know how to act. Had he decided to leave? Was it over between us? It was to my utter relief that he immediately came to me, sliding into my embrace as easily as ever before, kissing me and even telling me he still wanted to go ahead with the plans we'd made for the day.

All day we were physically close, holding hands; but never with the ease that I'd become used to. It should have been so simple to just kiss him whenever, wherever; instead, I didn't initiate contact, letting him set the tone of our interactions. After dinner he presented me with the sketch he'd had framed. The notation at the top of the piece, noting the subject and title with the words, "JC by Jacey," was charming. When he climbed onto my lap, taking my face in his hands, kissing me again and again, I knew we were past the breach. Despite what his eventual decision was, the hurt I caused him was forgiven. In my relief I clung to him, sharing mouth-watering kisses, letting my hands travel all over his beautiful body. When I knew where the night was heading, that we would be together again, I needed to show him how special he is to me, to give myself to him in the only way I can for now.

So now I stand, anxiously awaiting his response.

"Jack..." he murmurs. "I've never topped before."

"And I've never bottomed," I reply gently.

"Never?" he repeats, incredulous.

I shake my head slowly. "Not once."

He thinks for a few moments before asking, "Why do you want to do this, Jack?"

"I told you last night that I've never been in a relationship like ours. I've never felt what I feel for you. I trust you, completely. I know after last night, your faith in me may have wavered a bit..."

"No," he shakes his head firmly. "No, you were honest with me. You can maintain your integrity even in the face of a conversation like that. If anything, my faith in _you_ is even stronger."

His words, along with the actions he's shown throughout the day today, are a balm to my anxious nerves. "You are so important in my life, Jacey. I want to show you how much you mean to me. I want to give you part of me that no one else has ever had."

He looks down, considering my words. "I don't know how..."

"We can learn together," I assure him, adding, "if you want to."

He looks up at me and replies, "Yes. I do."

My heart skips a beat; the butterflies already in my stomach instantly multiply. I draw him closer and our lips meet again, mouths opening to welcome the other inside. We go slow, undressing each other, our mouths barely parting except to remove a shirt. When we're bare to each other, I lie on my bed, drawing him with me. The reality of what I'm about to do has my heart pounding in my ears. I'm a little nervous about the pain of it, but I know Jacey will be patient and gentle with me. Mostly I'm aware of the emotional magnitude of giving this to Jacey. By offering this to him I want him to know that he's the one who's worth taking a risk for.

My lips travel to his neck and he sighs, so deeply it's almost a groan. "Mmm, Jackie," he murmurs. His hands glide down over my back to cup and squeeze my naked backside. I move my hands over the same path on his body. The muscles there are taut, yet there's a delicious roundness that I can't get enough of. He hums his enjoyment and whispers, "Lie down, Jackie." We release each other and I back up to the bed, drawing him with me. I relax onto the pillows, lying on my back and he moves over me. His soft full lips brush across my chest, latching on to one nipple then the other, working them with his tongue. Everything he does to me seems heightened – my body is more receptive, more sensitive to his touch than ever.

Leaving my nipples, he travels down across my abs, his tongue dipping into my navel briefly, before kissing his way down the line of soft hairs that lead him to the most sensitive parts of my body. Moving around the base of my cock, he takes one of my balls into his mouth. It feels so good my ass lifts right off the bed. I hear him chuckle quietly; he knows how much I love what he's doing to me.

He rolls my ball around his mouth, his tongue bathing it tenderly and carefully. After spending some time on each of them, he releases me for a moment. He reaches up to my night table where the condoms and lube are. He takes both out and places them on the bed beside us, before returning to the crux of my body.

He goes down on me then, slowly licking up my rigid length from the base to the head. I remember the first time he did this to me, in my hotel room in Austin. As inexperienced as he was then, he learned quickly and brought me off so well. Now that we've been together more and he has learned my sweet spots, it's downright miraculous. He takes the head between his plush lips and I feel myself glide slowly deeper into his mouth, every fraction of an inch multiplying my pleasure a hundredfold.

After a few moments I hear the plastic cap on the lube bottle snap shut. I tense slightly; realizing this, he releases me from his mouth. "Shhh," he whispers soothingly. "It's okay, Jackie."

I nod, exhaling a deep breath. His lubricated fingertip gently massages around my opening, pressing, relaxing the tight round muscle there. I remember the advice I gave him the first time we were together, and take a few deep breaths, focusing on relaxing my body with each exhale.

His mouth returns to my cock and starts to slowly suck, his fingertip making gradual ingress. The delicate tissues are incredibly sensitive – every nerve ending is alive, anticipating. He slips a second finger in; far from being painful, the increase in pressure is intensely pleasurable. His two fingers inside me, he continues to stretch me, preparing, softening the way. All the while, I can't control the soft moans that escape me.

Finally he pulls away, rising to kneel between my legs. He tears open the condom packet and unrolls it onto his hard cock. Normally I would want to go down on him as well, but he's completely in control. He generously lubes his cock, smiling at me as he does. He leans over me again, holding the base of his cock and positioning himself at my opening.

"Are you sure about this, Jackie?" he whispers, searching my face.

I reach up and pull his face to mine, kissing him deeply. "I've never been more sure of anything," I reply earnestly.

He nods and carefully starts pressing into me. "Oh," I gasp softly, the pressure taking me by surprise. Jacey changes his course, pulling back slightly, then gradually pushes forward again. He employs this pattern, sinking a little deeper each time. His face rigid with concentration, he's being so careful, watching me closely for every reaction that flickers across my face. After the flared ridge of his head has slipped past the tightness the progress is easier. By the time he has slid completely inside me, I need him to stop for a moment. "Oh my god," I pant.

"Are you okay?" he asks.

I nod. "Yeah...just...I need a minute." The truth is, I've never felt anything like this. It's not just the physical sensation of having him inside me, which in itself is so much better than I expected. It's also the emotional fullness I feel in giving myself to him. I've always considered myself firmly a top, never contemplating bottoming for anyone. Even the few times I indulgently allowed myself to fantasize about making love to Ashton, he was always beneath me. Now, opening my body to Jacey, sharing something with him that is completely new to both of us, allowing myself to truly inhabit this moment...I'm very close to becoming overwhelmed.

I pull him closer, forcing him to shift his weight so he's lying directly on me. He smiles and kisses me as I wrap my arms and legs around his nubile body, holding him as tightly as I can. "Jackie," he murmurs. "I can't believe...you're amazing. Feels so good."

"You're a natural," I encourage him, smiling before kissing him again. He pulls most of the way out, then glides back in again. Having adjusted to his size, all discomfort is gone; I now feel only pleasure and tenderness. His cock repeatedly brushes past that place inside that sends shocks of exquisite, toe-curling pleasure throughout me, again nearly lifting me off the bed every time.

Jacey lifts himself up, supporting his upper body with his arms to give himself more leverage against me. His strokes increase in depth and speed, and along with them, my arousal. I wrap my hand around my cock, palming and stroking it. "Uhhh, yeah, Jack," Jacey moans. "Play with your cock...it's so beautiful."

I moan, unable to contain the intensity that is building from the root of my body, threatening to boil over as the flame burns hotter between us. The only thing my brain can focus on now, aside from the physical sensation, is his name, and I say it over and over. It spurs him on; everything we do pushes the other closer to the point where we will explode together.

As that moment approaches I manage to gasp that I'm going to come. He grabs my shoulders for leverage and pushes hard, holding himself as deep inside me as he can. Just two more strokes with my hand, and I moan, "Ahh! Jacey...yeah!" My jizz shoots hot across my stomach; every nerve dances and sizzles in ecstasy. The muscles in my ass tense and spasm, clamping down on Jacey's perfect cock. Almost immediately Jacey cries out, throwing his head back and shouting. Our mutual orgasm is a tornado, impossible to fight as it pulls us both into a spiral of delirium - forcing, pushing upwards, buffeting our two bodies - until it subsides, dropping us back to earth, clinging desperately together so as not to be torn apart by the inescapable force.

Jacey holds himself above me, his face only a few inches from mine. His sweat-soaked body trembles from his exertion, but still he remains, unable to break from our gaze. Our eyes communicate the acknowledgement of our feelings, since the words are too far away for us to reach. When the intensity becomes too much I pull him to me, guiding his head into the crook of my neck, and he allows his body to relax onto mine.

My breath comes to me in near-sobs. "Thank...you," I gasp, fighting to get some control over my emotions before they overwhelm me. I can't believe he's leaving tomorrow. I still don't know whether I'll ever see him again. If he decides he can't continue...I can't even think about it.

"Thank you, Jack," he breathes. "That was...I don't have words."

All night we lie facing each other, sometimes lying in each other's arms, sometimes kissing; but always touching, our faces a few inches apart...holding hands, holding arms...holding on. I keep thinking one of us will eventually drift off, but we never do. Minutes become hours and still we lie, never speaking; our eyes locked together in the dim light from the streetlamps outside. The knowledge that our time is coming to an end is so corporeal that it sits with us like a presence in the room. We can't waste a single moment sleeping.

Towards dawn, Jacey slides as close to me as he can, the full length of his body pressing against mine. His breathing accelerates slightly, until he abruptly cries, "Jack! Jack, don't let me leave like this. Please...once more before I go...I need you..."

"Yes, Jacey, yes," I moan, moving over him. I'm almost instantly hard, ready to fill his need. Both of us already naked, it is the work of just a few seconds to sheath my cock and lube us. His body accepts mine easily. There are no words as we...make love...sweetly and tenderly, just silent tears that trickle from his eyes. When we come, together...I can't explain 's as though I feel his orgasm, not mine. Everything is through him and for him. Everything is _him_.

Even after our second time, we fight off the fatigue, lying without a hair's breadth between us. There are things I want to say, but what words could capture how I feel? I want him to transfer schools, come to Chicago and stay with me forever; but I can't ask. Not now – not when he has this decision to make. I don't want him to think I'm doing it to manipulate him. And wouldn't it be selfish of me to ask him to move away from his mom, when the only family they have is each other?

I can't; I won't. When I finally break the silence between us, I whisper, "Thank you. For tonight...for this week. I can't believe our time is already over."

"The best week of my life," he replies in a whisper before burying his face in my neck. Within a few moments I feel wetness on my skin and I know it comes from my precious boy's mute tears.

It is with deep sorrow that, when the sun shines bright into my room, I loosen my grip on him. "We need to get up," I murmur. "You have to start getting ready if you want to catch your plane."

He scoffs. "If I _want_ to catch my plane?" he replies, quietly bitter. Nevertheless, he kisses my forehead, extracts himself from my arms and heads to the bathroom to shower. For the rest of the morning I more or less leave him alone, gently asking a question or making a remark when I have to, but otherwise letting him do what he needs to. He packs his suitcase, cleaning his toiletries out of the bathroom and putting them into his travel kit. He carefully packs away the jade piece in the soft cotton bed in the box it came in and puts it in his suitcase. The various sketchpads go back into the portfolio; his guitar goes into its case. All the pieces of his life that have resided in my apartment this week disappear one by one. Even the tulips in the pitcher on the dining room table are now wilting, the tips of the petals curling brown and crisp.

He's finished with his packing about an hour before we have to leave for the plane. He comes out to the living room where, feeling numb, I sit on the couch. He kneels in front of me, placing his hands on my thighs. I try to smile, but my effort is weak and falls far short of anything believable.

"Jackie," he says, in his usual gentle voice. "Before I go I need to tell you something."

My breath catches. _This__is it._

He takes both my hands in his. "I want to be with you. I believe I can, even long distance, even knowing you're with others when we're apart. I can't promise I'll be able to do it long-term...but for you, I have to try." He leans in a bit closer. "I'm not ready to give you up, Jack Charles." I nod, understanding what he's saying. I'm grateful that he's not ending it between us; even though my relief is dampened by the sad reality that he's leaving. He continues, "Our talk the other night was important. We know where we stand. I can go forward with more realistic expectations." He dips his chin a bit, looking at me more directly. "But Jack, I _am_ going to go forward. Do you understand what I'm saying?"

I slowly nod. "I believe I do, yes." He's not going to sit around pining for me. I don't _want_ him to do that anyways. He's young and beautiful; he should be going out, having fun...experiencing life.

"Thank you," I tell him in the most heartfelt tones I can express. "I'm so glad you didn't decide to end things between us. Thank you for taking the risk."

He shakes his head slightly, seeming exasperated. "Jack, haven't you figured it out yet? _Life_ is a risk." His words are reproachful, and I'm struck by how mature he is.

He gets up off his knees and sits beside me on the couch. Instead of sliding into my embrace as he usually does, he puts his arms around me; I'm the one to lean in and rest my head on his shoulder. I feel his cheek press against my head and his hand pats my arm as he holds me. For as long as we can we remain here, spending our last moments in the apartment reflecting on the week that has been...steeling ourselves for what will follow.

-o-

**Well, I'm more or less gutted – how about you? It was short, but it was heavy. **

**I know that viewpoints on Jacey's decision will vary, because a wide variety of opinions were expressed in the Ch 12 reviews. I'm grateful to _everyone_ who shared their thoughts with me. You have been so perceptive and articulate. It's very clear to me how much the characters have come to mean to you. I hope, regardless of what you thought should happen, you'll feel I did justice to what did transpire. **

**Deep Dish hit 1,000 reviews with Ch 12, and I love everybody. :) **


	14. Chapter 14

**The response to the last chapter was so amazing and supportive. I love you all, I really do. Also...the Slash Award winners were announced earlier this week, and my stories "took home" a few awards, including Best Non-Edward/Jasper Pairing for Deep Dish! I'm just blown away, really – this is a story is about _original characters. _One canon character in the bunch and he's one of the most maligned characters in canon. I fully expected to have very little support for a story that didn't have Edward or Jasper. Between the reviews & PMs & thread conversations from last chapter, and the award win, I am feeling so much love. _Thank you. _**

-o-

**Chapter 14**

_Jack_

Saying goodbye to Jacey at the airport...well, it sucks. Jacey fights to hold back tears, with limited success. My attempt is somewhat more successful, though I know he can see them swimming above my lids. I want to ask him to walk away after my back is turned, so neither of us has to watch the distance grow between us. Instead, I kiss him, hold him tight, and then let him slip out of my arms. I watch him make his way through security, wait until he turns for one last wave...and then he's gone.

He texts me that night when he gets home, then calls me Sunday. The conversation is brief and painful – for both of us, I believe. Watching him leave was like part of me pulling away, leaving an open laceration. Only a day later, the wound is still seeping & raw. Hearing his voice is like antiseptic - it's going to help with the healing but still hurts like hell at the moment, especially when I had the real thing, in the flesh, only a day ago. I spend the weekend in, trying not to see him everywhere I look in my apartment.

The week following his departure is wet, windy and cold – a perfect reflection of my mood. Where I would normally go to the gym several times during the week, instead I come home and putter around my apartment – making my own dinner instead of picking up takeout, catching up with the friends I neglected during Jacey's visit. I start by calling my mom on Monday night. She carries most of the conversation, telling me about the first graders she's reading with and about how my brothers are doing as they prepare to wrap up their respective school years. It's comforting to hear her voice; she sounds _well_, and that's a relief to me. My mom picks up on my mood, sensing immediately that something's wrong. I manage to ease her concerns by telling her that I was having trouble adjusting to the cold weather, but now that it's getting warmer I'm doing better. I'm planning a trip that will take me home to Fresno for Mother's Day. Both brothers will be home by then as well, and it'll be the first time the three of us have been home since Christmas. I'll seek out a time to have a quiet chat with her then, to tell her about Jacey.

I call Edward and Jasper after I've talked to Mom. I'm quite a bit more forthcoming with them, since they already know about Jacey and that he lives in Austin. They're tickled that I met him because I was in Austin for their wedding.

"Wow, Jack," Jasper says. "This guy has really made an impression on you."

"He's amazing, Jasper. He's creative and kind and so _pure_; but he's also not some babe in the woods. He's intelligent and perceptive. He did a sketch of me...you should see it. He had it framed while he was here and gave it to me the night before he left."

Jasper chuckles. "Sounds familiar. Must have been rough to watch him go back to Austin." I sigh, and he adds, "When will you see him again?"

I brighten marginally as I tell him about the plans Jacey and I made before I took him to the airport.

_We sat on the couch, his arms still around me. I wanted to stay there quietly with him for as long as possible, but before he left, there was something I wanted to nail down. "You know," I mused, "before Thursday night...happened...I was thinking that I wanted to talk to you about next time."_

"_Next time?" he repeated._

"_I wanted to make plans to see each other again. I was thinking perhaps I would come to Austin...if that's okay with you, of course..."_

_He pulled away enough that we could look at each other. "Really?" He was almost smiling, his eyes betraying more interest than the rest of his face. "You want to come to Austin?"_

"_Yeah," I replied. "You could show me where you live, your school, your favorite places in the city. You've flown to see me twice - I'd love to come see you." He broke into a full-on smile, and I added saucily, "It'd be like returning to the scene of the crime."_

"_I would love that!" he grinned. "When were you thinking?"_

_"I'm going to Fresno for Mother's Day, which is a week early this year - how about a couple of weeks before that?" I suggested._

_"Oh - I'll be right in the middle of finals," he frowned. "In fact, April in general is sort of out."_

_"Hmmm..." I pursed my lips and thought for a moment before I was struck by a brilliant idea. "Hey - what about Memorial Day weekend?"_

"_That's a great idea," he agrees. "I should know by the end of March where I'll be working for the summer, and wherever that is, I'll tell them right off the bat that I have plans for that weekend."_

I can hear a grin in Jasper's voice when he says, "You know, we're going to be there two weeks before you. Too bad we couldn't have coordinated it a little better, because I'd love to meet Jacey. Maybe next time."

The thought of Jacey meeting my friends actually brings a genuine smile to my face. "Definitely," I reply.

The next night I call Ashton and Kathleen. This one is a bit trickier since I haven't told them about Jacey at all and I know Jasper didn't mention my visitor to them. I decide to simply tell them that I'm seeing someone. Ashton is the one to answer, and he sounds so happy to hear from me that I have a sudden pang of homesickness for Seattle and all my friends there. I tell him about Jacey. He's surprised, but asks about him, how we met and so forth. When I admit I met him in Austin the weekend of Jasper and Edward's wedding, he gasps.

"Wait – is he the guy I saw?"

"What?"

"Remember...Sunday morning, I came to talk to you and I saw a guy leave your room! He's the guy, isn't he?" He sounds pleased with himself, like he's solved a riddle.

I chuckle. "You got me. That's Jacey."

"Jacey. Wow. So you started seeing him then?"

"No, actually, not till January. We made plans to meet in Chicago when I came for the interview," I correct him.

He makes an exasperated sound in his throat. "Good grief, Jack – you're a good one for secrets."

"Uh, yeah. Sorry," I reply sheepishly.

"I know I had a ton going on then, getting ready for the wedding...but I hope I didn't make you feel like I was too busy to talk to you," he adds.

"No," I assure him. "It wasn't that at all. More that we were sort of casual then...I didn't know if it would turn out to be serious."

"You're telling me about him now," he presses. "Does that mean you've gotten serious?"

"Well...yeah," I admit. "Actually...he was here last week for a visit."

"Wow," he says again. "So maybe our days of me going out with you to watch guys try to pick you up, are over, huh?" He chuckles and I can't help but join him.

"Not that many straight guys would go to a gay bar," I reply. "You may be the best friend a queer has ever had."

"It's easier when you don't keep me in the dark about your life," he murmurs, suddenly serious. We're both quiet for a moment before he adds, "Come home for a visit soon?"

"Um..." I flip through the calendar on my kitchen wall. "Let me see...I'm away two weekends in May already...not sure about June..."

"Wait! You have to come back for the Fourth of July!" he insists. "You didn't get to Carlisle & Esme's barbecue last year, remember? You were in Fresno. You've got to come this year."

Sounds like an excellent idea to me. "Does that mean you're going to give me a place to crash?" I tease.

"Absolutely," he agrees. He doesn't bother to muffle the phone as he talks to Kathleen, telling her what we're cooking up.

She adds her assent enthusiastically. "You're always welcome, Jackie," she calls, her voice distant as the phone picks it up from across the room.

"There you go," Ashton says, returning to the phone. "All set. The whole gang usually goes to the barbecue, too, so everyone'll be excited you're going to be there."

By the time we hang up I've brightened up considerably, thinking of visiting all my Seattle friends. The next day it occurs to me that perhaps Jacey might like to come to Seattle as well. I email Ashton and float the idea, since he's the one offering a place to stay. Naturally his reply is an unqualified yes. I decide on waiting a few weeks to ask Jacey if he'd like to meet me there; if he does I'll buy his ticket, since I'm inviting him along.

The people I work with ask about Jacey's trip home and they're all very sympathetic that he lives so far away. I thank Andrew again for giving me Friday off. In retrospect I probably would have called in that day to stay home with Jacey, after what happened the night before. I don't tell him about that, of course; just that it was greatly appreciated by both Jacey and me.

As for Jacey, we talk two or three times a week and text daily. Having plans already made for Memorial Day weekend is a bit of a double-edged sword. On one hand, it's nice to have something decided, something we can look forward to. On the other hand, it means knowing we won't see each other again for two and a half months.

In the weeks following his departure, I think a lot about the feelings I have for Ashton. Before Jacey's visit I'd have said I was in love with Ashton but wouldn't have said the same thing about Jacey. I know what I've felt for Ashton is love, but it's been a toxic sort of love. It has only ever brought me heartache knowing he can't return it. If I were to hold it up next to how Jacey makes me feel, Ashton would be dark, cloudy and painful; Jacey would be swirling bright colours and smiles. I want to let go of those toxic feelings once and for all, but not by substituting Jacey in their place. Not only does Jacey deserve better, but I also want to be able to put Ashton back where he should be – the best friend I've made in adulthood.

It's not till the first week of April that I take on the task of going to find Karl to confront him about what he said to Jacey. I still don't know exactly what he said, but I intend to find out. Whatever it was, he had no business telling Jacey or even implying that Karl and I had an intimate relationship before Jacey came to Chicago. Despite the fact that his comment prompted a necessary conversation between Jacey and me, it doesn't justify him discussing my private life.

I go to his apartment on a Friday evening, but am frustrated when there's no response to my knock. Returning the next afternoon is more fruitful, as he answers. His eyes widen to see me standing in the hallway outside his door.

"Jack," he greets me in surprise. "Hi."

"May I have a word with you?" I ask calmly.

He looks uneasy, but replies, "Uh, sure. Come on in."

Wordlessly I step past him and walk to his living room, turning to face him with my hands in my pockets. He joins me and says, "Have a seat. Can I get you a drink?"

"No thanks," I reply, remaining standing. "I'm here to ask you about the night I introduced you to Jacey at the club."

"Oh." His face becomes carefully unreadable and his back straightens slightly. "What do you want to know?"

"I know that, for some reason, you either told him or implied that you and I have been together. I'd like to know exactly what you said."

His guarded expression looks marginally more defensive, but otherwise he shows little reaction. He continues to stare at me for a few seconds, as though contemplating how to answer...or perhaps whether to answer. "Maybe you should ask Jacey," is his eventual, quiet reply.

"I'm asking you," I return evenly.

Again he takes his time considering his answer, then exhales a long breath. "Fine. I asked if you kiss him."

"You asked...what?"

"If you kiss him," he says again, enunciating each word slowly.

"And then what?" I press.

"He said yes," Karl answers bluntly.

"And?"

"I said I didn't think you liked to kiss." His expression is hard now, his mouth set and his face growing slightly red. "That was the end of the conversation." He crosses his arms over his chest, indicating the finality of his story.

It's not even close to what I was expecting - knowing how crass boys at the club can be, I had anticipated a comment about what a great blow job I give, or something along those lines. It's clear, though, what Karl's intention was with the question. He has drawn a comparison between the casual sex I had with him, and the relationship I'm building with Jacey.

"So I guess you got caught cheating, huh?" he sneers.

"I wasn't cheating," I answer defensively. "Jacey and I have an agreement...which definitely doesn't involve letting people throw my sex life in his face. He's someone special in my life, and he was hurt because you had to make sure he knew we'd been together. It was completely unnecessary for you to bring it up." Pointedly I add, "My privacy is very important to me, Karl."

"Well, then, picking up random guys for a casual fuck may not be for you, _Jack_," he spits sarcastically. "Maybe you should stick to the ones who are 'special'. Or at least special enough to kiss."

I scowl at him. From the other side of the room he stares right back, and we hold that stand-off for a long moment.

Finally he shrugs. "I don't have anything else to say," he says dismissively.

"I guess we're done," I agree. I turn for the door, opening and then closing it behind me without a word. Out on the street, I inhale deep breaths as I walk home, trying to work through the irritation and frustration. The few short blocks back to my apartment aren't enough. I decide to change into my running gear and go for a run. Only a couple of blocks from my place is the Lakefront Trail. I haven't run it yet, and with the sun finally shining again for the first time in two weeks, it seems like a good day.

At the east end of my street I cross Lakeshore Drive and get onto the pavement of the trail that carves a long path between Lakeshore and Lake Michigan. Once I'm warmed up and stretched, I hit my stride and head south towards downtown. My footfalls on the pavement set a relaxing rhythm, and I wait for the adrenaline to kick in. No other kind of physical exercise makes me feel like this – like I'm barely touching the ground. It's soon apparent to me, though, that missing several weeks at the gym has taken a toll. I'm not quite a mile and a half along before my feet become like lead. I refuse to take it down to a walk, but I do turn and head back towards my apartment.

As I head north again I occasionally punch the air before me, pounding out my frustration in the wake of my conversation with Karl. Despite now knowing what he said to Jacey - assuming he's being honest with me, that is - I'm bothered by Karl's bluntly honest assessment. _Picking up guys for a casual fuck may not be for you. _The worst thing is the uncomfortable suspicion that he's right. I made a conscious decision, before leaving Jacey alone with Karl at the bar, to trust that Karl would use discretion. In retrospect, what exactly did I base that on? I had no real knowledge of Karl's personality - the one actual conversation we had was about me, not about him. Nor did I expressly say, "I'm a private person - let's keep this just between us."

_Ugh_. The awful realization dawns on me, and it's impossible to ignore: _I am such an ass. _ I thought I was worldly and wise, but on this point, I've been embarassingly naive.

So as much as I would love to continue to be angry with Karl, I have no one to blame for Jacey's hurt feelings but myself. And knowing it's really me who hurt my sweet boy rubs salt in the wound.

By the time I'm crossing Lakeshore Drive my feet are dragging, between feeling glum about Jacey and being pissed off at myself for letting my workouts go for so long. A week while Jacey was here and two weeks since he left - three weeks is too fucking long. I walk the two blocks back to my apartment and amble up the stairs.

When I arrive in my apartment there's a message on my phone from Mike. I shower and dress before listening to it. "Hey, it's Mike. I was wondering if you'd like to come over to watch the Cubs game tonight. And basically, I'm not going to take no for an answer this time. Staying home moping by yourself isn't helping, Charles. Give me a call."

In spite of myself, I can't help grinning at his familiar use of my last name. He has been a better friend to me the last two weeks than I could ever have imagined.

_He texted me on Friday, wondering how Jacey was after suddenly becoming "ill" at the club. I told him everything was fine and that I'd talk to him after Jacey went home the following day. _

_After I dropped Jacey at the airport, I went home and fought tears for a couple of hours until I let myself go and just let it out. I'd planned on hibernating by myself for the weekend, but Mike showed up at my apartment that evening with beer and his laptop. He'd subscribed to watch the Cubs' spring training games on their website, he said, and he was there to spend the evening with me. _

_I protested, but he insisted. It turned out to be the best thing for me. He didn't ask me about Jacey, though I knew he could see my red eyes and puffy face. He would comment on the game or ask about a book on my bookshelf, or make some remark about something he'd heard on the news. It was all innocuous; he was just there. Before he'd been there half an hour I was glad he'd come. _

_That night before he left he surprised me by giving me a long hug. "You know I'm here if you need to talk," he murmured. "I know I'm not as close to you as one of your good friends, but...I'm here." He released me and stepped back but kept his hand on my shoulder, gently squeezing it. _

_I managed a weak smile. "I may take you up on that," I said. _

"_Sometimes it's easier to talk to someone who doesn't know you well. No judgments; no worries about disappointing me because I don't have any baggage or expectations about what you should be doing," he offered. _

_After he left and I had a chance to consider his words, I realized he had a good point. People talk to therapists, not just because they're trained to help them deal with their problems, but also because it's often easier to talk to an impartial third party when it comes to difficult situations. I called Mike the next afternoon and found myself telling him everything. About being in love with Ashton; about how I met Jacey; about how and why I made the decision to come to Chicago. I told him about how I was watching my friends fall in love and get married, and that I felt very alone. I told him about what happened Thursday night, about Karl and why Jacey was upset, and about the conversation we had that night. Finally, I told him about Jacey's decision on our future. He was quiet, simply listening; he didn't tell me I was wrong, or point out things I should have done differently. He just listened until I'd talked myself out. _

Since that afternoon we've talked more, either when I've mentioned something or he's asked a question about Ashton or Jacey. He knows I've been cocooning myself in the apartment, and has invited me to go out and do something, but I've declined. He's always let it go before. Now it sounds like my amnesty is over.

I pick up the phone and dial the now-familiar number. He answers on the second ring, a smile in his voice. "Hey, you," he says good-naturedly.

"Hey," I reply. "I'm calling you back, so I guess your threat worked."

"It wasn't a threat," he counters. "It was a promise."

"Oh," I grin. "Well, it was very, very intimidating."

He bursts out laughing. "Yeah, I'm sure that's what most people think of when they see me. Intimidating."

I join his laughter before remarking, "So who are the Cubs playing tonight?"

"Arizona," he replies. "Only two weeks till the season opens!" He sounds almost giddy, and I recall him telling me that his law firm holds season tickets to the Cubs. I like baseball, but I've never been one of the eat-sleep-breathe sports guys.

"What time does the game start?" I ask, checking my watch.

"Not till six. I was thinking I could order pizza and you could bring beer?"

"Sure," I agree. "Could you make one—"

"Vegetarian, I know," he interrupts. "Don't worry, Jack – I'll make sure they cover it in sprouts and seeds and ferns and whatever else they can dig out of their backyard before they deliver it."

"Hmmm," I muse. "Sprouts might be kinda, good, you know? The little ones would sit above the cheese and crisp up as they bake?"

"Oh, hurl," he grouses. "That is a violation of the sanctity of good Chicago pizza."

I roll my eyes before adding, "Tomatoes, green peppers, mushrooms and onions will be fine, please."

"I guess that's all right," he says grudgingly. "At least I don't have to be ashamed to have that delivered to my house."

I ignore the comment and ask, "So should I come for, say, 5:30?"

"Sounds good," he replies, and gives me the address since I've never been to his house before. It's several blocks north of here, straddling the line between Boystown and Wrigleyville. Nice and close to Wrigley Stadium, I can't help noticing.

I head back out at five and pick up some beer. I choose both regular and light, deciding I'll stick to light tonight and save some calories. I arrive at Mike's just as the pizza guy is leaving.

"Hey, Jack," Mike welcomes. "Good timing. Come on in."

"I come bearing gifts," I reply, holding up the two sixes. Mike nods, approving of my choices. We load up our plates and each grab a beer, sitting on the sofa in his living room. His house is a cute red-brick one-and-a-half storey, very typical for this neighbourhood. There's a nice covered front porch with a couple of deck chairs and an outdoor end table. Inside are light-stained hardwood floors and carved wood trim around the windows and doors. As we eat I look around the living room, which is a shrine to the Chicago Cubs, albeit a tasteful one. He has an autographed ball in a small glass case on the fireplace mantle; an old black and white photograph of Wrigley Field framed on the wall; and the front page of an old Chicago Tribune that screams in huge block letters, _CUBS TAKE THE PENNANT._

We watch the game on the flatscreen over the fireplace, which he has hooked up to his laptop as he did to my TV when he came to my apartment. It isn't until the bottom of the third inning that Mike broaches an uncomfortable subject.

"So, did you find Karl at home last night when you sent to see him?"

"No," I reply, "but I went back this afternoon and he was home."

"How did that go?"

"Uh...well, I found out what he said to Jacey," I hedge. Mike's eyebrows perk up and he waits for me to continue. "He asked Jacey if I kiss him."

"If you kiss him?" Mike asks, puzzled.

"Yeah...when I was with Karl, he tried a couple times to kiss me and I deflected them. I don't usually kiss hook-ups, you know? I don't know why – I just don't really want to. Anyways, Karl asked Jacey, and Jacey said yes, and then Karl told Jacey that he didn't think I liked to kiss. Jacey...well, obviously he understood what Karl was implying." Mike nods thoughtfully. "But then..."

"What?" asks Mike.

"Did you ever get really mad at someone for something, and then when you talked to them about it, they sort of showed you that it was your own fault all along?"

"Huh?" Mike raises an eyebrow at my convoluted question.

"I didn't think Karl would say anything to Jacey about us having been together. If I thought he would, I would never have left Jacey there by himself. But when I think about it now, I didn't have anything to base that on. Like, it was really pretty stupid of me to assume."

Mike nods. "Yeah. It was, actually. Even though Karl seriously didn't need to say anything to Jacey – who obviously means much more to you than a casual fuck, anyone can see that – Karl isn't the one who has to protect Jacey's feelings."

"I know," I groan, dropping my head back against the couch. "I'm such an idiot."

"Probably," he agrees. "Welcome to the club." I roll my head to the side to look at him and he smiles sympathetically. "Jack, all of us have made errors in judgement. No one's idiot-proof. Congratulations, you're human." I grimace. "Oh, buck up, lil' camper. It's not so bad to be human."

I sigh. "Thanks, Mike. You're a good friend."

"You're welcome," he grins. "And as your good friend, I should tell you that you should _never_ trust club boys to keep their mouths shut! I mean, that really was monumentally stupid..."

I club him with a throw pillow before we return our attention to the game. For the rest of the evening, I feel lighter, less burdened by the events of the past few weeks, and ready to emerge from my cocoon.

-o-

**So, I sort of glossed over the parting at the airport. I have to tell you, writing Chapter 13 had such a profound effect on me – for three or four days after I posted it I was in an absolute funk, and I know it's because I let myself get SO immersed in the pain and desperation Jack was feeling that last night. Not so good for Starfishy. I really needed to _not _revisit that in this chapter. I hope you'll understand. **

**I've started a Jacey "Thursday" post on my blog (Thursday is in quotation marks because I think I've actually managed to post *on* Thursday one time out of three or four). It's proving rather popular! Won't you skip over and check it out? :) starfish422 dot blogspot dot com**


	15. Chapter 15

If you have any questions about House of Cards or its predecessor, The Forbidden Room, please visit Trish's website, www dot jpbarnaby dot com for more information.

-o-

Chapter 15

_Jack_

The month of April passes in a blur of warm spring rains and sunny days, blossoming fruit trees, evening jogs, work, and friends. At work I'm finally back to what I love – brokering. I've begun contacting the clients Eric Yorkie used to deal with – the ones who didn't pull their business, that is – to introduce myself and review their portfolio. Something I learned from going through his files is that he did, at least, know how strong a stomach his clients had; in other words, who was interested in higher risk-higher gain and who preferred solid, slow growth. That much was documented in their files. As I make contact I find that some of the clients are understandably wary, and others are simply glad to know who will be looking after their stocks.

The second week of April, Jacey tells me he's been hired for the summer as a counselor at a summer camp for the arts. It's the second year he'll be working there; he told me when he was here that he'd applied for a second year and it was his number one choice for a summer job. He's very excited to return. "So we're fine for the Memorial Day weekend, Jackie. The kids don't start attending till June anyways, when school is finished. The month of May is weekdays only, and it's all getting the camp ready and preparing curriculum."

"That's great!" I enthuse. "Not just about that weekend, but about the job in general! What exactly will you be doing?"

"Well, I'll be a counselor for a cabin of six boys so I'll sleep there at night. Mornings I'll be in the studio teaching visual arts to various classes of kids. Afternoons we're outside swimming and hiking and stuff, so I'll get all tanned and buff."

"Mmm," I hum. "Sounds delicious."

He laughs. "We'll see."

"How old are the boys in your cabin?"

"The camp has kids between eleven and fifteen, so it sort of depends who I get assigned to. The program is ten days long – it starts on a Monday and goes to the Friday ten days later. Friday after the kids get picked up we prepare for the next group and then we go home for the weekend, so we get every other weekend off. Last year I had eleven-year-olds in my cabin all summer, and that was nice, actually. None of them had been before because it was the first year they were old enough. Everyone was sort of shy, a little awkward. Always on the first night, there would be one or two whom I could tell were trying not to cry. I always had my guitar with me, and I'd play and sing them all something corny, or a gross-out song. Something that would make them laugh or even just roll their eyes – anything to get them to loosen up a bit. And I made sure I put a little travel packet of tissues on everyone's pillows the first day before they got there."

"Wow," I smile tenderly. "No wonder they hired you back. You're probably the best counselor they ever had."

"I think it helps that I went there when I was a kid," he replies. "My counselor the first year did that sort of thing too – except he gave us chocolate. I would never give eleven-year-old boys chocolate right before bed."

"You went there?" I repeat.

"Yeah. It was partly subsidized because of having a single mother, but my mom paid part of it as well," he answers.

"How close is it to Kingsland, then?"

"Well, it's northwest of Austin but still closer to the city than it is to Kingsland," he clarifies. "The northern tip of Lake Travis."

"So if you have every other weekend off, where does that put you on the fourth of July?" I ask casually.

"Um..." I hear him flipping the pages on his calendar. "Let me see...two weeks here, then two weeks, and then...yep, I'm off that weekend. Why?"

"I've made plans to go to Seattle for the weekend," I tell him. "My friend Edward – he's the one who was getting married last fall when we met? His parents always have this big barbecue for the Fourth. The gang I used to hang out with in Seattle will all be there."

"Sounds nice," Jacey comments.

"The reason I asked if you're off is because I want to inviting you to fly up to Seattle and meet me there for the weekend," I continue.

"Shit, seriously?" He sounds taken aback. "Wow, Jackie, it sounds really great. I'll have to see how my finances are, because I have to have a certain amount saved up at the end of the summer, but if I can swing the ticket and the hotel, I'd love to."

"Well, that's the next part of my question. There's no hotel cost, for starters – I'm staying with Ashton and Kathleen, and they extended the invitation to you as well. And since I'm inviting you to go, I'd like to look after your ticket."

"What? No, Jackie," he protests. "Staying with your friends is one thing, but you paying for my ticket is too much..."

"Jacey, just listen," I persuade. "I'm not going to insist, but I'm asking you to please let me do this. I would really like you to come with me, and I don't want you to have to worry about dipping into your school money for it, or having to scrimp somewhere else. Will you at least consider it?"

He hesitates before answering, "I'll _think_ about it."

"That's all I'm asking," I smile.

-o-

Mike and I go out to the clubs a few times. My sex life, limited to solo flights only since Jacey's departure, re-emerges by the time Easter arrives a month or so later but I don't hook up when Mike's around. On Good Friday I visit a bathhouse and pick up a trick. The nice thing about the baths is I don't have to take anyone to my home, or accompany them back to their place. In fact, an absolute minimum of conversation is required. For this, that's exactly what I want. It's only about getting off, for both of us. I don't know his name and he doesn't ask mine. The next weekend I return and have the same experience with a different guy.

But when I lie in bed at night, it's Jacey I miss. My arms reach out involuntarily, longing to wrap around his warm body and pull him close. My lips want to feel his soft lips. I want to breathe that familiar scent, the one that lingered in my bed for days after he left. I left my sheets on at least four days longer than I would have, just to delay washing out the scent of _him_. Even the noise he makes when he sleeps...

-o-

On Easter Sunday I'm invited to attend Brunch at the Newton home. Mr. and Mrs. Newton are very friendly and welcoming. Mrs. Newton in particular fusses over me when she hears that I'm far from home. Mr. Newton asks what my parents do, and I have to tell him about losing my dad nearly a year ago. They are both very empathetic and kind. The entire time I'm there, they go out of their way to make me feel welcome, even making sure that they have numerous meatless items on their brunch buffet.

A group of their friends are there as well, and when I go to the kitchen to get another coffee, I overhear two women talking about Ethan. I now know him to be Mike's ex-boyfriend. It seems Ethan's parents are usually the ones to hold brunch at their home on a weekly basis, but they've gone to Seattle this Easter to visit Ethan and his partner. When the women see me, they stop talking about Ethan and pleasantly greet me. I apologize for interrupting, but they dismiss it, telling me they're glad to see Mike making a new friend. I just excuse myself, rejoining the rest of the party on the back deck.

When I leave, Mrs. Newton insists that I take some of the leftovers from the fruit tray, and half a loaf of banana bread. I give her a kiss on the cheek before thanking them both and heading off. Mike calls me that night to thank me for "putting up with it all," as he says; but really, I'm grateful they invited me. It feels _normal_, something I used to do when I lived in Seattle and was surrounded by my friends. It was at a Sunday brunch, in fact, that I first met Jasper, when _he_ was the one making a fresh start in a new city. I will consider myself very lucky if I end up as happy as he is.

-o-

Jacey calls me the day his final project is handed in, which also happens to be his twenty-first birthday. He has just received my gift in the mail – I had it delivered so he would receive it _on_ his birthday – and calls me before opening it, so he can open it while he talks to me. I've bought him a premium membership to the Art Institute of Chicago, which not only comes with some pretty cool perks at AIC, but also gives him reciprocal privileges at fifteen other art museums in the country. He opens it, and when he realizes what it is, he's nearly speechless. I chuckle as he thanks me repeatedly, but I make sure he knows I have ulterior motives, too. "I'm expecting that you're going to make use of that in _Chicago_ as often as possible," I tell him meaningfully.

"I can't wait, Jackie," he replies breathlessly.

When he settles down I ask if he's planning to go out to celebrate. He tells me he's going out for dinner with his roommates, and then he's going to meet up with some other friends to go to a club. Jacey doesn't drink at all, or at least he hasn't before now; he says he may have a little tonight, just to say he did it.

He also tells me that he's given thought to our conversation about Seattle in July. "You're always so generous, Jack," he says. "It's not that I don't appreciate it, okay? I hope I didn't sound ungrateful when we talked about it before. But...I don't know...I don't want you to feel like you _have_ to do that sort of thing for me. I don't want to take advantage."

"I don't _have_ to, Jacey; I know that. But I know it's expensive to be a student, and you work your ass off all summer long, hoping to have enough money to get you through the next year of school. I want you to visit Seattle with me; I want you to meet my friends. I don't want you to have to stress about money in order to do it."

There's a pause at the other end of the line before he replies, "Okay."

"Okay?" I repeat.

"Okay, let's do it," he clarifies.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. I mean, when you put it that way, how can I say no?" I can hear a smile in his voice.

"Exactly," I reply triumphantly. "You can't."

-o-

On the Friday before Mother's Day, I board an early flight, landing in Salt Lake City before continuing on to Fresno. My mom meets me at the airport. When I see her I rush to her and bend down to wrap her in a bear hug.

"Jackie!" she enthuses. "Welcome home!"

"Hi Mom," I greet her. "I missed you."

She kisses me on the cheek before releasing me. "I missed you too."

"The boys at work?" I ask, referring to my brothers, now both home from college for the summer.

"Yes," she replies as I grab my small suitcase from the luggage pickup. "They're both off tomorrow, though, so we have all day together."

"Sounds good," I grin, offering my arm and letting her lead me to where the car waits.

When we're on our way she asks, "Would you like to go out for lunch on the way home?"

"Actually, I'm sort of anxious to get home," I reply.

She smiles indulgently. "Of course you are. You were always my homebody, Jackie. We'll have lunch at home on the patio, then, and maybe you can go for a swim."

"Okay," I grin. Somehow, going back to the home in which I was raised almost makes me revert to being a little kid. My mom treats me with the same good-natured patience she did when we were teenagers, especially on the now-rare occasions the three of us are home at the same time. "I was also thinking I'd go over to see Gram tonight," I mention. My dad's mother is still living, but since losing her son last year her health has greatly deteriorated. Requiring full-time care, she is now in a nursing home.

"Yes," my mother cautiously agrees. "You should see her while you're here. But I should warn you, dear – even if she's awake, you never know in which year her mind might be living." I can hear the sadness in my mom's voice. Mom and Gram didn't quite take to each other when they first met, but after Mom lost her own mother shortly before my parents married, Gram became much like an adopted mother to her. They've had a very close relationship since.

We pull into the driveway of the expansive Craftsman-style home and I breathe a quiet sigh of relief. I love this house. Inside, I toss my suitcase on the floor of my room and throw myself onto my bed, looking up at the ceiling. With my permission, my mom redecorated my room after I went to college, updating it from a teen's room to that of an adult – but it's still mine. The same double bed, the same dresser and night table. If I close my eyes I can remember where all my posters were. My favorites were my Brian Lopes posters. I was huge into mountain biking when I was in my teens, and when I was sixteen, he was the best in the world – but the posters weren't there simply because I admired his skill. His soft eyes and cute smile had me too – along with his tanned arms and the way his shoulders looked in a tight-fitting shirt.

Mom calls me a few minutes later. "Lunch is ready!" I join her on the patio, where we chat as we have egg salad sandwiches and iced tea. After lunch we stay put, sitting in the shade of the patio awning without speaking – just listening to the breeze in the trees of the back yard and the birds chirping. I look over at Mom. She has kicked her sandals off and is wiggling her toes in the grass. Her eyes are closed and her head is leaning against the high back of the patio chair.

She looks peaceful, and I smile with contentment before I quietly speak.

"So...I'm seeing someone."

Her eyebrows climb her forehead as she opens her eyes to look at me. "Really, Jackie?" I nod, and her surprised expression is quickly replaced by a huge smile. "Oh, my! Tell me about him!"

I can't help chuckling. "His name is Jacey Dawes." I stop there, waiting as though that's all I have to say.

She rises to the bait almost immediately. "Oh, Jack!" she scolds good-naturedly. "You're becoming just like your father!"

I just grin. "Well, what would you like to know?"

"What does he look like? How did you meet him? What does he do? All the details!"

"He has brown hair and grey-blue eyes, and he's maybe two or three inches shorter than me. We met when I went to Austin last fall for Edward and Jasper's wedding."

"He's a friend of theirs?" she asks.

"No, we didn't meet _at_ the wedding. I met him at a club there. He lives in Austin."

"Oh," she frowns slightly. "But you moved to Chicago..."

"Right. Well, I didn't move _because_ of Jacey. Actually, we weren't even seeing each other yet when I decided to move to Chicago. We _met_ in October and I gave him my number, but we didn't get in touch again till January, when I already had the interview scheduled at Fortunatus."

"So you're dating him long-distance, then," she nods.

"He's been to see me twice, and I'm going to see him for Memorial Day weekend. He's also meeting me in Seattle for the fourth of July weekend."

Mom pulls a footstool in front of her chair, propping her feet and thoughtfully staring at her pedicure for a few moments. "Are you serious about him, Jackie?"

"Well...yeah. I am, Mom. You know I only had one boyfriend when I was in Seattle, and that was really sort of a disaster. Jacey makes me feel _alive_. He's intelligent, and artistic. He did a sketch of me when he stayed with me in March – you should see it, Mom, it's amazing."

"Does he work in some sort of artistic career?"

"Um..." This is where it gets tricky, telling my mother that my boyfriend is just a year older than my youngest brother. "He probably will...when he graduates. He's an arts student, Mom. At UT Austin. He just finished his sophomore year."

"Oh my," Mom says quietly. "That makes him – how old?"

"He turned 21 last month."

"A year younger than your brother."

"I know." We're quiet for a moment before she asks, "Isn't it difficult to be so far away from him, Jackie? Chicago to Austin is, what, a thousand miles?"

"Something like that," I reply, looking at my hands where they rest in my lap. "It's not easy. I miss him...a lot. I know you commented – maybe six weeks ago now – that I was sounding down, and honestly, the reason is because he had just left to go home. He stayed with me for his spring break, and having him there...in my apartment, part of my daily life...it was really difficult to let him go."

"Jackie," she shakes her head, mildly exasperated again. "Why do you insist on keeping so much of this to yourself?"

"I didn't want you to worry..." I try to explain but she rolls her eyes.

"Jack, when will you learn? I know when something is wrong, even when you try to pawn it off as being 'the weather'. Oh, don't look so surprised, I didn't buy that for a second. I knew something else was going on – you just had to keep me in suspense of it for six weeks."

I sigh. "Sorry, Mom," I say sheepishly, ducking my head.

"Jackie, you know you can always talk to me – it doesn't matter what it's about."

I take her hand and give it a squeeze where it rests on the arm of her chair. "I know you think I internalize too much. Would it help if I tell you that I've made a friend in Chicago?"

"You have? A friend-friend?"

"Yeah," I grin, "a friend-friend. Mike. He's a lawyer – his firm represents Fortunatus, actually, and that's how I met him. He's become a good friend, and, well, I kinda tell him everything. He met Jacey in March when Jacey visited and he knows all that stuff. And..." I hesitate for a moment, but continue as I figure my mom certainly already knows anyway, "I also told him about Ashton."

"Wow," she remarks quietly. "He _is_ a good friend. I hope he's helping with that." The fact that she doesn't ask me to clarify or expand upon my reference to Ashton tells me that she knows, as I've suspected for a long time.

She reaches out to hold my hand on the armrest of my chair, and we lapse into silence for a while before she asks with a sly grin, "So, this Jacey...got any pictures?"

-o-

When my brothers arrive home together, having carpooled from their respective summer jobs, I meet them in the front foyer. Our raucous reunion echoes throughout the house. We may all be "grownups" now, but when we get together we're the same rough-and-tumble crew of boys who put the fine silver threads in my mom's temples. Sean has grown about six inches in height since I saw him last, putting him at about the same height as Aaron – which is an inch taller than me. For his part, Aaron has suddenly filled out. He's no longer the scrawny, almost painfully-skinny kid he used to be.

"Feel this," he insists, flexing his bicep.

I pat the hard muscle appraisingly before teasing, "Not bad, I suppose – but I'm pretty sure I can still dunk you."

"Oh..." he grins with a wicked gleam in his eye. "Bring it if you think you can, _little_ brother."

"It's on!" I hiss.

"Boys!" Mom calls in vain, as she always did when we used to wrestle, but to no avail. The three of us thunder through the house towards the backyard, stripping down to our underwear, tossing our clothes as we go. By the time we hit the pool we simply jump straight in, the sparkling water refreshing in the late afternoon warmth. For an hour or more we roughhouse, dunking each other and wrestling in the water. Being six years older than Aaron and almost nine years older than Sean means that until the last few years, this was never much of a fair fight. Those days are over, and we are far more evenly matched. It's much more fun for me now than it was when I was the biggest and had to be careful of my little brothers.

Mom brings towels out and sets them on the table, then resumes her chair on the patio and watches us with amusement. When we're gasping with laughter and the initial buzz of being together again has worn off, we climb out. Mom shrinks away from the water that drips from us as we reach over her to get the towels.

"Nice underwear, Jack." Sean rolls his eyes at my slim briefs. "They don't leave much to the imagination."

I snort. "Yeah, those thin cotton boxers you're wearing practically disappear when wet."

He looks down and sheepishly wraps the towel around his waist. Aaron and I burst out laughing at him. Aaron claps his hand on Sean's shoulder. "Don't worry, little one – it'll grow sooner or later."

"Boys!" Mom finally objects. "Please, give your poor mother a break, will you?"

"Sorry Ma," Aaron grins, leaning down to kiss her cheek, before we all head to our rooms to change.

I join Mom in the kitchen a few minutes later and help her prepare dinner. My less-helpful brothers lay low until Mom calls upstairs to tell them dinner is ready. They aren't as keen on meatless food as I am, so they have beef tacos while Mom and I have beans in ours. As we eat they ask me about Chicago, how I like it and when they can come for a visit. In return I ask them about their second term of school and how life is on the East Coast. When they're in school I tend not to talk to them all that much. We email, but Mom is the one who keeps us each up-to-date on what's going on with everyone. This is the first real conversation I've had with everyone since we were together at Christmas.

After dinner I ask Mom for the keys to Dad's car, which she has kept for when we boys are home.

"Of course," she replies before adding, "Would you like me to go with you?"

"Yeah," I admit meekly. I might be stoic much of the time, but when it comes to the woman who's been my second mother, I'm a softie.

"Where are you going?" Sean asks.

"To see Gram," I reply.

"Okay if I come too?" he asks. I reply that he's welcome, of course. Aaron then remarks that he hasn't been to see her since the day after he got back from school. Ultimately, all four pile into Dad's car. The nursing home is just ten minutes away, and we soon find ourselves walking down the quiet hall to Gram's room.

Outside the door, Mom lays her hand on my arm, stopping me. "I just want to warn you, dear," she cautions. "She's changed a lot since you saw her last." I nod, taking a breath before stepping inside.

Despite Mom's warning, the woman lying in the bed takes me by surprise, and I gasp softly. She is tiny and frail, her legs barely distinguishable under the covers. I hesitate for a moment and watch as my brothers each go to one side of her bed and take a hand. She opens her eyes, looking deliberately from one to the other without speaking; then at me, and finally at my mom.

"Oh, it's you, Laura," comes the quiet, tired voice, as she recognizes the person she sees most often.

"It's me, Gram," my mom smiles.

Grandma looks at each of my brothers again. "And Sean...and Aaron," she says, slowly drawing the connection between them and Mom. Finally she looks appraisingly at me and I manage to smile. A long moment passes before she says, "I don't think I've met this boy."

My heart breaks a little with those words. I know it's not her fault – not at all - but I am saddened and angry at the dementia that is claiming, one piece at a time, the memory and the life of this once-vibrant woman.

Mom takes my arm and walks me to the bed beside Gram. Sean moves back out of the way. "You know this boy, Gram," Mom tells her gently, smiling. "This is little Jackie."

"Jackie?" Gram repeats, confusion shadowing her face for a moment. I force myself to smile again; and after a pause recognition dawns. "Jackie," she breathes and reaches out her hand for mine. "Where have _you_ been all this time?"

I don't know what to say to explain it to her; I can't think of anything that won't confuse her more. I simply sit down beside her and take her outstretched hand in both of mine, quietly replying, "Sorry I'm late, Gram."

For the rest of our visit Gram says very little. We all chat and she looks from one to the other of us, smiling when we do, nodding occasionally. I find myself watching her, too; when we make eye contact she squeezes my hand and smiles. I wonder how much she understands, if she has retained enough of her memory to contextualize our conversation. It's encouraging when her hand comes up to stroke my hair – a very "Gram" thing to do. She always did it if we were snuggling or reading a book. I look at her again and I know, somewhere in there, _my_ Gram still exists, even if she only appears in brief glimmers of awareness.

It's not long before a nurse comes in to let us know visiting hours will soon end. Mom and the guys say goodbye to Gram, telling her they'll see her again soon. As for me, I can't honestly say I _will_ see her again. I turn to my family. "Give me a minute?" I request.

"Of course," Mom says, patting my shoulder. "We'll wait for you at the car."

When they've all left I sit back down beside Gram. "It's time for me to go, Gram," I murmur.

"Yes, dear," she replies.

"I'm worried I won't see you again," I admit forlornly, taking her hand.

"I'm okay, Jackie," she replies, and strokes my hair once again. "You don't need to worry about me. Be a good boy; you were always a good boy."

I sigh. "I love you, Gram."

"I love you too."

I give her a hug and a kiss on the cheek, whisper, "Bye," and turn to leave.

When I'm at the door I hear her weak voice. "And Darryl, tell John if he doesn't do his chores, he won't get to go to the movies on Saturday afternoon."

I turn back to look at her. Darryl is my uncle, older brother to my father; he lives in Los Angeles now. John, of course, was my dad. I watch Gram for a moment; her eyes, so alert just a moment ago, are now unfixed and random. _My_ Gram is gone.

"I'll tell him," I reply, and walk out the door.

-o-

Since I have to fly back to Chicago on Sunday, the three of us boys celebrate Mother's Day on Saturday, starting by making breakfast. We walk the few blocks to the middle of the Tower District, browsing the stalls at the Farmer's Market. We pick up flowers and fresh fruit, freshly-baked bread and other goodies. Over a late lunch at a local restaurant, Mom mentions Jacey to my brothers. They're both curious to hear all about him. They tease me a bit, but it's all done in good humor; they are genuinely pleased for me.

Mom also lets slip about someone Sean is interested in, and he blushes to the tips of his ears. Apparently he met her just a month before school ended, so he hasn't gotten to know her well – yet. Mom tells me later that they've been burning up the phone lines ever since he got home. I'm both surprised and pleased to hear that Sean is seeing someone. I left for college when I was 18 and I haven't lived at home since then, aside from summers when I worked most of the time; so really, I haven't lived with Sean since he was nine. Last May after Dad died and Sean suggested he attend Cal-Tech instead of MIT, that was the first time I really looked at him with new eyes and realized, _Wow, he's a man. _It was a surreal moment, but even in the midst of my grief I was so proud of him. I hope the girl turns out to be well-suited for him. He's quite reserved – not shy, exactly, but he prefers small groups of friends to large crowds. I know he'll make a loyal and caring boyfriend.

Aaron, on the other hand, is gregarious, the person to whom everyone looks to get a party going. While doing his undergrad degree he's had as many girlfriends as he has fingers – he knows what he wants, and commitment is not it. Fortunately, the girls he's been with have been looking for the same type of relationship as him – fun while it lasts, and then no hard feelings. He is Sean's opposite in many ways – except on loyalty to friends and family. He surprised us all when he wrote and performed a song for Dad's funeral. He comes through when it's important.

The day is beautiful, not a cloud in the sky as we slowly make our way back to the house. We all debate on what to do this evening, but Mom casts the deciding vote, saying she'd really like to stay in and just watch a movie with us for the evening. She chooses the movie, "What Women Want". I roll my eyes when she can't see me, thinking to myself that there are few subjects I'm _less_ interested in understanding; but I do end up chuckling at the onscreen antics. The movie takes place in Chicago, so I point out some of the features of the Chicago skyline. When one of the characters, an advertising executive, presents an ad featuring a woman jogging, I immediately recognize it as being the Lakefront Trail. "I jog there a few times a week," I grin. "Almost in that exact spot."

"Looks peaceful," Mom smiles, her eyes glued to the screen.

"It can be," I reply. For the first time I'm struck by the realization that I already love Chicago, that I'm sitting here watching the movie and thinking, _That's my city._ "You all have to come visit me. You'll love it," I add.

When the movie's over I say goodnight to everyone and head up to my room. I want to talk to Jacey before I go to bed. Unfortunately, there's no answer on his phone. "Hey, sweet boy," I tell his voicemail. "It's me. It's Saturday night, I'm in California and I was thinking about how much I miss you, and how it's still three whole weeks till I come to Austin to see you...and I wanted to hear your voice. Anyway, sorry I didn't catch you. If you get this tonight or maybe tomorrow morning, give me a call. My plane leaves Fresno just after one tomorrow afternoon. Hope to talk to you soon. Bye."

-o-

In the morning my brothers sleep in. Mom and I have a quiet breakfast and enjoy our coffee out on the back patio. I give her the present I brought her. It's a delicate white gold chain with three small wave-shaped pendants. The pendants fit into each other and are identical, with the exception of the small colored stone at the end of each. One is a sapphire, my birthstone; one is a ruby, Aaron's; and an amethyst, Sean's.

Mom unwraps the gift and opens the hinged lid of the black velvet box. "Oh..." she breathes. "Jackie, this is beautiful."

I smile. "You like it?"

"I love it. I've always wanted something with your birthstones on it." She removes it from the box and holds it up, laying it over her palm to look at it more closely. She opens the clasp and fastens it around her neck, then turns toward me. "Thank you, dear." She leans over and gives me a kiss and a hug.

"You're welcome, Mom," I reply, returning her hug.

-o-

My brothers are the ones to take me back to the airport. We arrive with lots of time to spare, so they sit with me and have a coffee before I have to board. Now that they're adults, I miss them - not that I didn't miss them before, but I didn't have as much in common with them. We didn't have a whole lot to talk about, aside from school and sports. I tell them that whenever they have a weekend off and want to come visit me, they've got a place to stay, and that I'd really like it if they tried to come stay with me this summer, before they get back to school and get snowed under with assignments. They both promise to try to make it - if not together, at least separately.

By the time I turn off my phone on the plane, I haven't heard back from Jacey yet. It _is_ Sunday, though, and Mother's Day to boot. I know he was going to Kingsland this weekend and will be spending the day with his mom today before heading back to the camp. Last week was his first week there at work, and though the kids aren't there yet, he stays at the camp during the week along with the other counselors. His days are long and busy, working to get the camp ready after it's been closed up all winter. By the time evening comes he's wiped out. He did call me one evening last week, but he sounded just exhausted, so much so that after just a few minutes I encouraged him to go to bed. I'd rather that if he's tired out, he not fight sleep staying up talking to me; but at the same time, I miss having that contact.

I miss _him_.

-o-

Just as a reminder, this story takes place in 2011 – after Edward & Jasper's wedding, which as you may recall takes place in October 2010. :) Yes, Easter Weekend in 2011 will be late April! And Mother's Day is a week earlier than usual, so they're only a few weeks apart. I really didn't realize I'd be posting a chapter _about_ Easter, _on_ Easter – it was quite accidental. Hope everyone gets to take a nice long weekend off work, and to those of you who gave up fanfic for Lent – welcome back!


	16. Chapter 16

_**Thank**____**you**____**all**____**so**____**much**____**for**____**your**____**kind**____**responses**____**to**____**Chapter**____**15;**____**it**____**seems**____**Jack's**____**visit**____**to**____**his**____**Gram**____**struck**____**a**____**chord**____**with**____**many**____**of**____**you.**____**His**____**conversation**____**with**____**her**____**was**____**a**____**fairly**____**faithful**____**transcription**____**of**____**a**____**conversation**____**I**____**had**____**with**____**my**____**own**____**grandma**____**in**____**1999**____**(yes,**____**we**____**called**____**her**____**Gram),**____**right**____**down**____**to**____**her**____**saying,**____**"Where**____**have**____**you**____**been**____**all**____**this**____**time?" **____**I**____**lost**____**her**____**to**____**Alzheimer's**____**in**____**2005. **____**What**____**struck**____**me**____**when**____**reading**____**the**____**reviews,**____**was**____**that**____**of**____**those**____**who**____**mentioned**____**someone**____**in**____**your**____**life**____**with**____**Alzheimer's**____**or**____**other**____**dementia,**____**nearly**____**100%**____**of**____**those**____**affected**____**were**____**women.**____**It**____**made**____**me**____**wonder;**____**so**____**I**____**went**____**to**____**the**____**website**____**of**____**the**____**Alzheimer**____**Society**____**of**____**Canada. **____**Twice**____**as**____**many**____**women**____**are**____**diagnosed**____**with**____**Alzheimer's**____**than**____**men.**____**:(**____**That's**____**a**____**sad**____**statistic. **____**Big**____**hugs**____**and**____**kisses**____**to**____**the**____**grandmas.**_

-o-

_Jack_

It's late Sunday evening before I hear from Jacey. When he does get in touch with me he sounds exhausted and – for the first time since I've known him – grouchy. "Believe me," he grumbles, "I would much rather have been talking to you instead of doing what I was doing."

"What happened?" I ask as I unpack my bag from California.

"Ugh," he grouses before launching into his story. "Okay. I have a friend who lives in Austin - I went to high school with him in Llano. His parents still live in Llano, and I'd arranged with him to get a ride from Austin to Kingsland on Saturday afternoon so I could spend Mother's Day there. Well, my friend came down with the stomach flu, so he didn't go to Llano after all. So halfway through the day Saturday I was scrambling to find another way to get to Kingsland. I tried the bus line and the nearest route would still be about 30 miles from Kingsland, and because it was last minute it'd cost a ridiculous amount. There's a girl I had in one of my classes this year whose family is in Marble Falls. I thought she'd likely be headed out that way. I didn't want to bother her, but it was either that or not get home to see my mom for Mother's Day. So I tracked down Sheri, and she said she was going home after she finished work. I figured I'd just walk or hitchhike the rest of the way."

"Hitchhike!" I exclaim. "Jacey, are you serious?"

"Jack, please." I can almost hear him rolling his eyes on the other end of the line. "Anyways, I got in touch with my mom and told her the change of plans. I met Sheri at the hospital where she's working for the summer, and we started off. About twenty minutes out of Austin it starts raining like you wouldn't believe, and less than half an hour later, Sheri's car gets a flat tire. So we pull over to the side of this county road, and it's pitch black out and it's a fucking monsoon." I'm surprised by his language – he almost never swears. "She wanted to call her dad, but I said no, I'd just change it. She held the flashlight and I changed the tire. She had a raincoat and an umbrella in the back of her car, and she held them over us while I did it and we still got fucking soaked. And it's not like it was her fault - after I got the tire off and put the spare on, I found a nail in her tire. So she picked it up _somewhere_ and it slowly leaked till it just wouldn't hold any longer. I suppose the good thing is, she was so grateful I'd done it that she stopped at her parents' place in Marble Falls to drop off her car, borrowed her dad's car and drove me all the way to Kingsland. I was soaked through, and her parents of course offered me some dry clothes, but I just wanted to get home – it's only twelve miles. It was raining so hard, though, that it took us forty minutes because we had to drive so slowly. I got home at midnight."

"Aww, Jacey," I commiserate. "That sounds absolutely miserable."

"My mom was freaking out. She tried to get me on my phone; but I'd turned it off at the hospital, like you're supposed to, when I was waiting for Sheri. And then when I got to Mom's went to bed and never turned it back on. By the time I thought of it today, it was already this afternoon. I got your voicemail, but you were in the air."

"Oh, Jesus, don't feel bad about missing my call," I reassure him. "I'm just glad you're okay. What a rotten night. It's so dangerous to change a tire on the side of the road. You never know..." I can't finish the thought.

"Yeah. Well, it was worth it to be with my mom. We've never missed a Mother's Day together – not that I've been on the other side of the country or anything, but I didn't want to start now. She liked the gift I made for her, and then she drove me to back to the camp this evening...after we went out for ice cream, of course." I can hear a grin in his voice.

"Aww – sounds like today was a lot better than yesterday."

"Yeah," he agrees. "And what about you? I've been going on about my weekend – how was Fresno?"

"It was good," I reply. "Sort of a whirlwind trip, but it was good to see my mom, and my brothers."

"Oh, good," he says. "Hey, hang on a sec, okay?"

I hear a door open and he greets someone before telling them he'll be along in a few minutes. When he returns to our conversation, he says, "Sorry about that. A bunch of people are having a bonfire tonight. There's usually one for staff on the Sunday nights we don't have campers, because any other night we're too worn out. Anyways, they want me to come play my guitar."

"Oh, I should let you go then," I begin.

"No way," he counters. "I probably won't get to talk to you the rest of the week – I'm not going anywhere yet." We spend another twenty minutes just chatting, flirting a bit. He suggests a little interstate phone sex, but no sooner are the words out of his mouth than I hear a knock on the door of wherever he is. He curses under his breath and hollers at the door, "I'm coming!" Then quietly, so only I can hear it, he adds, "But not the way I'd like to be. Sorry, Jackie."

I chuckle. "It's okay, sweet boy. You'll be back in Austin Friday night?"

"Yeah," he confirms.

"Can we make an appointment for a telephone chat on Friday evening, then?"

"Definitely." He pauses and then adds, "I hate that we hardly ever talk during the week. I feel like I'm flaking out on you..."

"Don't even think about it," I reply. "You're working your ass off there every day. Besides, in, what, two and a half weeks, I'll have my hands on that very same ass...among other things."

"Mmm," he hums. "Can't wait to show you around my town."

"Is 'my town' a euphemism for something...?" I ask, to which he laughs out loud.

"For that, Cracker Jack, you're just going to have to wait and find out."

-o-

On Friday night, as arranged, I call him. We chat for a few minutes and then he takes control. I lie back on my pillows, propping my phone so it stays between the pillow and my ear, and I listen to him tell me, in no uncertain terms, what he wants to do when we're together again in two weeks. His voice is low and throaty; simply listening to him brings me to a state of complete arousal, and I haven't even touched myself yet. He tells me he's finger-fucking himself and wishing it was me. Taking my cock in my hand and slowly stroking, I close my eyes and visualize him...eyes closed, lips parted slightly...a flush coloring his cheeks...soft locks brushing his bare shoulders. Eventually his voice starts to portray the strain of trying to hold back his climax, and I moan that I'm about to come. "Uhhh, Jack...yeah...come hard...please, I want to hear you..." he urges.

I quicken my strokes and gently pull downward on my sac, crying out when my orgasm takes me. I hear Jacey's soft moans at the other end and imagine his beautiful hard cock shooting his hot white jizz as he hoarsely whispers my name. Afterward, when we've each cleaned up, we stay on the phone until my enormous yawns make Jacey insist that I go to bed. "Okay," I agree. "I'll call you tomorrow night?"

"Sure," he replies. "I'll talk to you then. Night, Jackie."

"Night, sweet boy."

The next day I get a text from him in the late afternoon that he's going out with some friends and won't be home after all. I'm a little disappointed, but glad he's enjoying his time off, since so much of his week is taken up by work. He calls me the next afternoon, before he heads back to the camp for the week. He sounds tired, and tells me he didn't get in till close to four in the morning. "Wow," I grin. "Sounds like a wild night."

"It was fun," he agrees, "but I'll be paying for it till tomorrow."

"Oh well, you're young – this is when you're supposed to be having fun and staying out till all hours," I point out.

"I guess," he replies listlessly.

We continue to talk until he has to start packing his bags with his clean laundry for the week. "Have a good week," I tell him. "Talk to you next weekend?"

"Yep, you bet," he replies.

-o-

Mike and I hang out quite a bit, mainly on weekends. Almost every Saturday we're at a Cubs game, using his season tickets. The third week we go, I ask, "Don't the other people at your firm like baseball?"

"Sure, some do," he replies. "Why?"

"Well, we're here using the season tickets nearly every weekend. Maybe someone else wants to use them."

He laughs at me. "Jack, these aren't the firm's season tickets."

I scrunch up my nose at him. "Didn't you tell me when we met that the firm had season tickets to the Cubs' games?"

He tilts his head to the side, thinking back. "Sure; I mean, yeah, the firm _has_ season tickets, but they're for clients."

"I'm a client," I point out.

"No," he disagrees. "I upgraded you from client to friend, which means we're using my own tickets."

"Aww - thanks!" I grin broadly at him and he returns it good-naturedly. I slouch down a bit in the seat and prop my foot up on the railing in front of me. "Tell you what - I'm a friend who is going to find it _awfully_ hard to go back to the nosebleed seats after this."

-o-

The next Friday is a sad day, the anniversary of my dad's death. In the week leading up to it, I receive some really nice cards in the mail - one from Ashton's parents, Kay and David; one from Ashton and Kathleen themselves; and one from Edward and Jasper. The hand-written notes inside are very thoughtful and comforting. Kay and David have even made a memorial donation to Saint Agnes Hospice, where my dad volunteered for several years before he passed away.

I call my mom Friday evening. My brothers get on the extensions and we all talk about Dad, about our favorite memories and how much we miss him. Over the course of the conversation we share in both tears and laughter. Mom tells me that they, too, received lovely notes from the same people I did. It's especially thoughtful that Edward and Jasper sent her a card since they've never met. After my conversation with my family, I call the Cullen-Whitlock home. Edward answers and after I thank him for the thoughtfulness they've shown me and my family, we chat for a while. Jasper is at class, Edward snickers – he's studying for his Masters in Finance, and we all tease him about being back in college. Underneath the humour, though, I know Edward is tremendously proud of Jasper for furthering his education. We all are.

When I make my next call, Kathleen answers the phone with her usual friendly, lilting voice. "Hello, Mrs. Byrne," I greet her.

"Jack," she replies. "I've been thinking about you today. How are you?"

"I'm okay," I answer. "It's been a difficult day."

"I know it has, sweetheart," she returns kindly. "How's your mom doing?"

"I talked to Mom and the boys a little while ago. They're all right; they went to visit Dad's grave today and they're having his favorite meal tonight for dinner."

"Aww, good."

"They got the note you sent and I got mine as well. Thank you for thinking of us, and remembering Dad."

"You're welcome, Jackie. I wish I'd had the chance to meet him. I know Ashton liked him and respected him, and Kay and David got along so well with your parents, didn't they?" she remarks.

"Yeah," I agree. "The four of them got together a few times a year...you know, went to Napa, traveled to Hawaii once, things like that. They got to be good friends."

"He was much too young, Jack," she says. "I'm sorry."

"Thanks, Kath." After a pause and a sniffle on my end, I ask, "Is your old man around?"

"No, sweetheart," she chuckles. "He isn't home from work yet. It's only 5:30 here."

"Oh, jeez," I palm my forehead. "Of course it is! Wow, I'm really not a Pacific Coaster anymore, am I?"

"I'll say," she laughs. "When we get you out here in July we'll have to tie you down and stuff some Starbucks and salmon and...I don't know..." She fishes around for another Washington State item. "...cranberries down your throat. Make you remember where you used to live."

I laugh at her. "The Starbucks and cranberries, fine. No salmon, but if you want to feed me some shellfish, I wouldn't argue."

"Fine," she agrees. "And Jacey? Will he agree with your food tastes? Is he a vegetarian too?"

"Nope, definitely not a vegetarian," I reply. "He's a son of Texas. He likes his steak."

"He and Ashton should get along well, then," she replies, and I can hear a grin in her voice. "We're looking forward to having you both here, and meeting this man who's stolen your heart."

I blush a little when she puts it that way, but I've gotten to the point where I really can't deny it any longer. Everyone can see the effect Jacey has on me, and I can't wait to go to Austin and tell him in person.

I debate calling Kay and David, but decide to leave that for tomorrow. Tonight, there's just one more person I want to talk to, and that's my sweet boy. I didn't have a chance to mention to him earlier this week about this particular anniversary, but it's definitely something I want to share with him.

Unfortunately I have trouble reaching him, on his cell or at his home number. Knowing he has call display on both phones, I don't bother leaving a message. A couple of hours go by without hearing from him and I try his cell again. This time he answers, but the background noise immediately overwhelms the conversation.

"Hello?" he says.

I can barely hear his voice over the noise. "Jacey," I say loudly. "Can you hear me?"

"Jack?"

"Can you hear-"

"Jack, I'm sorry, I can't hear a thing. If you can hear me, I'll call you tomorrow." I try one more time to make myself heard, but the clamorous background sounds suddenly go silent – the line is dead. I hang up my phone, stung by disappointment and a sense of rejection. We did say we'd talk this weekend, but we didn't specify tonight. I'm torn between feeling disgruntled that he's too busy to talk, and selfish for holding the expectation that he would simply be available when I called. He doesn't know I particularly wanted to talk to him tonight or the reason why. I'm quite certain that if he had known, he'd have made sure he was around to talk to me. By the time I go to bed I've talked myself out of being petulant...mostly.

The next day I busy myself with getting completely caught up on laundry and all my housework, since I won't be here next weekend to do anything. I'm leaving Friday afternoon to fly to Austin; and I won't be home until late Monday night. I also call Kay and David in Malibu, to thank them for their card and for the donation to the Hospice in Dad's memory. I talk to David for a while. It's so much like talking to Ashton – they have similar expressions and figures of speech, and their voices even sound similar. He and my dad became good friends. I know he misses him as well.

By the time the afternoon comes Jacey still hasn't called, and I'm getting antsy. Normally if I'm feeling anxious I'd go for a run, but I don't want to leave and miss his call. When the phone finally does ring at around four, I grab it immediately and peer at the number. Jacey's cell phone.

"Hello?" I answer.

"Hello," comes Jacey's voice, sounding tired again.

"Hey," I reply. "How are you?"

"All right," he replies unconvincingly. "Sorry I'm calling so late."

"Another late night?" I inquire.

"Yeah, went to a club and then ended up at a party. There was alcohol..."

"Oh, there was alcohol. And now...there's a hangover?" I tease, grinning.

"You could call it that," he mumbles. After a pause he asks, "So what are you up to?"

"Oh, puttering around the house," I answer, trying not to be too obvious that I've spent the day willing the phone to ring. "Getting ready for next weekend."

Jacey sighs, a deep exhale. "I'm really glad you're coming, Jack. I think we need this, you know?"

"Need what, Jacey?" I ask.

He drops his voice before replying, "We need to be together. I do, at least. I need...I need you."

"Yeah," I agree softly. "I need you, too."

In the background on Jacey's end of the line, I hear voices. "So, I'm just about to go out and get some...well, maybe breakfast isn't the right word, but that's more or less what it is," he tells me.

I chuckle. "Maybe a good feed of grease will help with your hangover."

"Maybe," is his only reply.

"So I guess...will we talk again this weekend, or...?"

"I'll give you a call when I get back to camp. I'll lock my door," he adds in an undertone.

I laugh, but there's an edge to my laughter. Something about our conversation feels...off. I can't be any more specific than that because I really can't put my finger on what's wrong. He doesn't sound like himself. I contemplate it for a while, but end up dismissing it - he's hung over, and no one feels like talking much when they have a hangover. We do talk the next evening when he's back at work, and he sounds more like the Jacey I know. He asks me to text him my flight details so he has them on his phone, which I do as soon as we hang up.

-o-

On Monday, Mike calls me at work. "Hey there," he greets me. "How's it going?"

"Fine," I reply. "You?"

"Can't complain." We chat for a bit before he says, "So, I have some news."

"What kind?" I ask.

"Work stuff."

"What's going on?"

"One of the senior partners was booked to go to a law conference this week, out of town," he explains. "Turns out he came down with shingles, of all things, and he's feeling miserable so he can't go. Guess who's going in his place?"

"Really?" I exclaim. "They're sending you instead? Cool."

"Yeah," he replies before wryly adding, "Of course, it only means I'm the one with NO life who can just drop everything on forty-eight hours' notice and not have to worry about a spouse, kids, whatever before I leave town."

"So where's the conference?

"Well, here's where it gets weird," he continues. "All along I thought the partner was going to Houston. Turns out it isn't Houston at all. It's _Austin_."

"What?" I exclaim. "You're going to be in Austin this week?"

"I am," he confirms. "I'll be there as of tomorrow afternoon and staying till late Friday night when my flight leaves."

"Okay, that _is_ weird," I agree. "You'll be leaving just as I get there. Will you get a chance to do any sightseeing?"

"Probably not," he grouses. "I've never been to Texas, either."

"You should stay an extra day, then," I suggest. "Stay Friday night and take Saturday to do some sightseeing. I don't know what we'll be doing, though; I can't promise I'll be able to meet up with you."

"No, no," he quickly replies. "I don't want to interrupt your time with Jacey."

"Well...to be straight with you, I'm not all that interested in sharing." We both laugh, and I add, "He's the one making our plans, anyway, because he knows where he wants to take me. But you should see Austin, Mike. It's a nice city."

"I suppose I should," he muses. "Who knows when I'll be there again or have another chance to see it? Maybe I'll check with the airline and see if it wouldn't be too ungodly expensive to change my ticket."

He emails me later in the day to tell me he's managed to change his ticket to a Sunday morning flight and extend his hotel booking, adding, _Now I just have to figure out what to see that will sum up Austin for me in a single day._

-o-

Mike leaves the next afternoon as planned, and between his absence and radio silence from Jacey, my evenings are quiet. Fortunately I have lots at work to keep me busy, and before I know it Friday afternoon arrives. My plane leaves at quarter to five, so I take off from work a few hours early, with Andrew's blessing. The weather is perfect – sunny and clear – and I'm on a direct flight. It's about two and a half hours later that the plane begins its descent to Austin Bergstrom Airport. The sun, gradually sinking toward the western horizon, shines in my window. I squint to see the city my sweet boy calls home, and I think about how, last time I made this descent into Austin, I had no idea what awaited me here.

The plane touches down, and upon our smooth landing I exhale the breath I've been holding. Despite how often I fly, I always tense up just prior to the moment the plane reconnects with Earth. Disembarking seems to take forever, because I know Jacey is so close now. With my laptop bag over my shoulder, I shuffle along with the crowd, making my way along the curving terminal building, to the middle where the security checkpoints are. As soon as I emerge through security, my eyes are everywhere, scanning the faces, looking for the soft brown hair and grey-blue eyes I know so well.

"Jack!" I turn in the direction of the sweetest voice, to find Jacey only steps from me, his beautiful face alight with happiness. I set my laptop case beside me and straighten up just in time to catch him in my embrace. I'm aware of a hundred things at once: his body, warm and strong as it presses against mine; his hair, soft as it I bury my face in it; his scent that both calms and excites me; his voice, whispering my name and telling me he's so glad I'm here; my own heart, pounding inside my ribcage as though trying to escape my chest.

My lips find his; our mouths, once joined, are loathe to relinquish each other. "Jacey," I murmur between kisses. "My sweet boy; you feel so good."

"Jackie," he whispers. "God, I missed you."

We both struggle against our instincts to keep things G-rated while we're in the middle of the airport. When we head to the escalators that will take us down to baggage claim, I keep my arm wrapped tightly around him. He asks about my flight, and even small talk is a pleasure when I'm in his company. I've so greatly missed his gentle presence. I grab my small suitcase and we go to where I've reserved a rental car for the weekend. I add him as a driver on the rental car as well - since he knows where's going, I figure there will be times when it's just easier for him to drive.

Such as this evening. We put my stuff in the trunk of the car and I offer him the keys. He eagerly takes them and before long we're on our way. I barely pay attention to the route, instead resting my head against the back of my seat and just watching him. I ask him about his week, about the camp, ask him to describe it to me – anything to be able to listen to him talk. I'm vaguely aware of moving from one freeway to another. He mentions the Colorado River as we cross it, and I glance out the window and nod, then return my gaze to him.

"I might as well drive through campus," he remarks, "because it's pretty much right on the way anyways."

"Okay," I reply benignly.

He looks over at me. "You're quiet. Are you tired?"

"Not tired," I reply. "Just happy."

His eyes back on the road, he beams, and reaches for my hand. "Me too, Jackie," he says, before lifting my hand to his lips and kissing my knuckles. As promised he drives through the UT Austin campus, pointing out several buildings to me. I do pay more attention to this part of the tour, interested in where he spends his time when he's at school. When we've passed through the campus, he heads for home. The house he shares is several blocks north of the university. It takes him about twenty-five minutes to walk to the buildings that house the fine arts department – still an easy walk, especially in Austin weather.

The sun is just going down as we reach his house. Jacey has told me before about his housemates. Though there are five guys in the house during the school year, only he and one other guy are living here for the summer months. The others are working out of town and will return at the end of August. Everyone continues to pay their share of the rent for the house during the summer months. It's worth it, they all agree, to keep the house till they've all completed their respective degrees.

This weekend, the house is all ours. "How did you swing that?" I ask curiously.

"I asked Neil if he'd mind staying with his girlfriend for the weekend," Jacey replies.

"You asked him to clear out?" I ask.

"Well, most of the summer, he has the place all to himself," he reasons. "Technically, I live here during the summer too, but before camp begins I'm only here on weekends. Once the campers start, I'll be here two days out of every fourteen. So yeah, he didn't mind letting us have it to ourselves for the weekend."

It's a cute, tidy house on a corner lot. From the front it looks like a little one and a half storey, but when we drive around the corner to where the driveway enters from the side, I can see that it has a two-storey addition on the back that has likely doubled the square footage of the original structure. He unlocks the back door, and it brings us through a laundry room, into a large eat-in kitchen. He gives me a quick tour of the first floor, indicating toward the back of the house where two of his housemates have their bedrooms, and the bathroom they share. He leads me towards the front, through the living room, and into the front hall. There, the front door opens onto a covered porch, and the stairs lead up to the second floor where Jacey's bedroom is.

Upstairs, he gestures down the hall, again toward the back of the house, telling me there are two more bedrooms at the end of the hall and a housemate in each. He indicates the second-storey bathroom he shares with them.

"Finally," he says, with a sweeping gesture, "we have my bedroom." We step into a good-sized room at the very front of the house. He crosses the room and flips on a lamp, chasing away the deepening gloom of twilight. I set my bags on the floor and gaze around me. It's exactly what I would picture for a room Jacey lives in – colorful and eclectic. The room itself has an interesting shape, as it is in the dormer at the front of the house and has windows on three sides. Under the window on the left wall is a desk with his laptop on it. The desk is flanked by two bookshelves – one that holds school texts and books on art and design, the other holding rows of novels. The combination of the desk and two shelves takes up most of that wall, while his queen-sized bed is pushed up against the right wall, under the other window.

Opposite the door is the front wall of the house, where the floor juts out into the wide dormer. Another desk sits in the dormer space – a drafting table. I can picture Jacey sitting there to draw and looking out the front windows to the yard and the street below.

The amazing thing about the room is that nearly every inch of wall is covered in some evidence of his creativity. Within the dormer he has covered a good portion of the walls with corkboard, and sketches are pinned to the board. In the main part of the room he has created murals: a few are identifiable, concrete forms – faces and places – but most are abstract designs. The entire room is one large art installation.

"When did you find time to do all this?" I ask in awe, slowly taking it all in.

"Last year," he replies. "We took possession of the house in June, so the weekends I was off from camp, this is what I was doing."

I'm simply blown away - my eye can't decide where to go first. When I catch sight of a familiar green stone, though, I immediately cross the room for a closer look. "Okay, you didn't do _this_ last summer," I contradict, running my hand over the wall at the head of his bed.

"No," he admits. "I did that the week after spring break."

The black and green tendril is the centerpiece for the mural on that section of wall. Rollicking waves span outward from the tendril, mimicking the whorls of the carving. As I look more closely I find various items I recognize – a giraffe's head, the distinct shape of a silvery bean, a tulip blossom, and what looks to be the iris of an ice-blue eye. Every item is carefully hidden, blending unobtrusively into the colors and movement of the mural's fluid lines.

"This is amazing," I breathe.

He comes to stand beside me, slipping his hand into mind. "I sleep facing the wrong way in bed," he admits, "so that when I wake up, I can look at it and be reminded of you and the week we had together. The best week of my life..." he adds in a near-whisper.

"Jacey," I murmur. I gaze at him for a moment; he returns it before we embrace each other in a rush. Our lips find relief as they press together passionately, mouths opening to the sweet taste of reunion. As successfully as we have harnessed our emotions until now, all restraint vanishes. Jacey unbuttons my blue shirt; I pull his t-shirt over his head. Each of us reaches for the other's belt, wasting no time removing the barriers that stand in our way.

Very soon we are bare to each other, naked skin pressing against skin, sighing as our bodies remember what our hearts have been missing. We fall together to the handmade quilt that covers Jacey's bed, our limbs twining and seeking. Despite believing I'd committed Jacey's body to memory, I'm bowled over by the reality – his lush lips, the softness of his skin, the alluring line of hair that runs downward from his navel. I run my tongue along that line, following it down to where the hair thickens and surrounds his beautiful cock.

He groans when I take the head between my lips. "Uhhmm, Jack, I missed you." With my mouth full, I hum in response and take him deeper down my throat. His hands rest gently on my head, following the up-and-down motion as I throat him repeatedly. When I feel him begin to tense, I slow and then release him altogether, wishing to delay his climax.

I move over him and he lifts up slightly, his tongue darting out to trace around my nipples. With one hand he reaches out to my cock, his fingers lightly teasing the sensitive skin. I close my eyes and luxuriate in every feeling – the smoothness of his fingers, the warm moisture of his tongue.

When he leans back, it's only to reach to his the table beside his bed, where he opens a drawer and pulls out a condom and lube. I watch as he opens the packet and places the condom on me, slowly unrolling it over my length. He opens the bottle, squeezes some lube onto his fingers and reaches down. I sit back on my heels to watch his eyes close and his lips part slightly when his fingers breach his tight opening. He shifts his hips slightly, allowing himself greater penetration. My cock, already iron-hard, throbs as I watch him pleasure himself. I remember back to a few weeks ago when he told me he was finger-fucking his own ass. As hot as it made me to imagine it, having a front-row seat to the show is a thousand times better.

Soon I can't stand it any longer. I take the lube from him and coat my own hard length with it. When I'm slick and ready, he takes hold of my cock and guides it to his waiting entrance. He smiles when I press gently against him, and lies back, pulling his knees close to his chest. "I've waited so long to be with you again, Jack," he urges. "I need you – please."

Looking into his eyes, slowly and steadily I press into him. A low moan begins deep inside him, building as I slide deeper into his hot, tight depth, finally culminating in a keening cry when my groin meets his skin. For me, the feeling is incomparable; being once again held within the lush confines of his beautiful body is the sweetest relief.

He pulls me tight to him, wrapping his arms and legs around me and I bury my face in his neck. I let my mind's eye travel over our bodies, visualizing all the places where our skin flushes hot and sweaty together. I feel him tightening his muscles around my cock, milking me gently. I swear, in the state I'm in, he could easily make me come just by continuing to do that.

Finally I lift my hips slightly, pulling away just a bit before sinking back into him, repeating the motion a few times. His eyes plead with me, and I lower my face to his and kiss him deeply, seeking out the furthest reaches of his mouth. When my tongue retreats slightly, his follows it, tracing my lower lip before sucking it into his mouth.

When he lowers his hands to my ass and pulls me hard against him, I take the hint. I push up, supporting my upper body with my arms, and start to truly thrust into him. Like the last time we made love, neither of us can tear our eyes away from the other. I watch him – his face, with all his delicate beauty, so exquisite that it pains me. He watches me,and I hope what he finds there is what I'm feeling for him – that he has come to mean more to me than anyone in my life.

I can see that he's nearing climax again, and I don't intend to make him wait this time. I lower myself slightly in order to catch his cock more fully between our abdomens as we press together. He groans, thrusting against me; his body begins to tense and tremble with his approaching climax. He finally breaks our gaze, closing his eyes as he tosses his head from side to side.

I lower my body further still, catching his nipple in my mouth to suck hard. That stimulation is the final element, and the volcanic reaction that erupts from him – his cock, his voice, his heart – surrounds me. I fight my own climax for as long as I can, trying to wait until he's finished, but his spirit is all-consuming. It sweeps me away, my cries blend with his, my hot cum floods from me, and my heart...

...my heart beats fiercely, pounding out a brand new rhythm, telling me...insisting, demanding to

be understood...and I understand.

When the height of the fever has passed; when our muscles have relaxed and our bodies slump

together; when our voices have lapsed into softest whispers of gratitude, my heart, too, settles

into a more measured rhythm...but it's not the same as it was. Somehow I know it'll never again

be the same as it was.

And so I take into my hands the face of the sweetest boy in the world. I look deep into soft

grey-blue eyes, and for the first time in my life, my heart finds a voice.

"Jacey...I love you."

-o-

**Aaaahhh! :) Did you think it was going to happen? **


	17. Chapter 17

**Thank you all for your reviews and love for Chapter 16. Yes, Jackie finally put himself out there! Let's see what Jacey has to say, shall we?**

-o-

**Chapter 17**

_Jack_

Everyone has a list of their best days – whether it's a top three or a top ten, or even just one very best, most of us can think of a time when we were peaceful, content, and utterly sanguine.

Waking up in Jacey's bed on Saturday morning is my best day. I hold my beautiful, still-sleeping lover in my arms in his colorfully-adorned room. I feel the rise and fall as he sleeps on my chest; I smell the scent that is so purely him. I am love, wrapped in joy, drizzled with contentment and a dollop of sexual satisfaction on the top.

I hope Jacey feels the same way when he wakes. He seemed a bit restless last night, despite having fallen asleep before me. He talked in his sleep a lot, which I haven't noticed before; he moved around a lot. He was just unsettled. Maybe it's because he's not used to sharing this bed. No matter what the reason, I refuse to get out of bed and leave my sweet boy to sleep alone. I remain with him, holding him tight to me, occasionally placing a kiss on the top of his head, revelling in my current state and letting my thoughts wander back to relive last night.

"_Jacey – I love you."_

_His eyes widened, and he breathed a soft "Oh," clearly surprised by my declaration. "Jackie...do you really?"_

_I beamed. "I do, Jacey, sweetest of boys. I love you."_

_He looked at me a moment longer, his eyes filling with tears as he did, and then he buried his face in my neck, holding me as tight as he could. I returned the firm grasp, prepared to hold him that way for as long as he wished. He kissed my neck repeatedly before looking up at me. "Jackie," he said hoarsely, "I love you. Of course I do..." Further words were abandoned as our mouths found each other. We didn't make love again, but instead simply kissed; soft, languid open-mouthed kisses that punctuated our admissions. It went on seemingly for hours, until finally Jacey pulled away and re-buried his face in my neck. When he began to make his little whuffling sleep noise, I knew he had drifted off. I wasn't far behind._

I love him. He loves me. We're _in love_, at the same time. This has never happened to me. I know I'm still pretty young, only twenty-seven, but I honestly believed it simply wouldn't happen. I really thought Ashton was it. Knowing he wasn't available, I couldn't imagine that there would ever be anyone else for me.

But this - this is unlike anything I've experienced. This is _real love_ – the kind that builds up and strengthens those who've found it, not the unrequited kind that tortures its victims with all the things that can never be. I wasn't looking to fall in love. I thought the best I could hope for would be to come to some peace with my feelings for Ashton. Instead, I stumbled into a beautiful fantasy with the most precious person I've ever known.

I twist in bed, searching for a clock. I find a digital readout on Jacey's computer desk. It's a little after eight a.m. I'm surprised at myself for sleeping in so long, especially in a strange bed. Then again, most "strange" beds don't come complete with the scent of the sweetest of boys. I don't know what time Jacey wakes up when he's working; perhaps he likes to sleep in on weekends. I don't care – I'll stay here with him all day, if he wants. I have only a few days with him, and I refuse to waste a moment of it. Over the next hour and a half I drift in and out of sleep, until Jacey stirs in my arms.

Blinking, he squints up at me. "Good morning, Jackie," he mumbles, his voice roughened by sleep.

"Good morning," I reply, loosening my grip slightly so he can reposition himself in the nook of my arm. We exchange a chaste kiss before he settles back onto my chest.

"How did you sleep?" he asks.

"Never better," I reply honestly.

"Mmm, that's good."

"Did you sleep alright?" I ask. "You seemed a little unsettled."

He screws up his face a bit, thinking. "I think I was dreaming...I can't really remember. I feel fine, though, so I must have gotten _some_ rest."

"Good." I kiss him again before asking, "So, what do you have planned for us today? As I recall, you promised to show me around 'your town'."

"Right," he grins knowingly. "In that case..." He rolls me onto my back and begins to slide down my body. "Let's begin with _downtown._"

"Um...technically, that's _my_ town," I point out.

He lifts his head. "You sassin' me, Charles?"

"No," I grin and relax back onto the pillows. "No, I'm not."

-o-

When we finally make it downstairs to breakfast, Jacey pulls a carton of eggs out of the fridge, along with several small bowls. "I got this ready yesterday before I came to the airport," he explains. In the bowls are various ingredients for omelettes, chopped up and ready to go: onions, mushrooms, green peppers, cheddar and feta cheeses, and some cooked, diced bacon for him. He gets to work on making the omelettes, putting me in charge of coffee and toast. When we sit down to eat at the large kitchen island, the conversation between us is easy and natural, as it almost always is.

"So," I ask between bites of omelette, "mind if I ask how you managed to snag the best room in the house?" It hasn't escaped my notice that Jacey's room has the best view, is removed from all the other bedrooms, and is in the older part of the house, giving it more character.

He simply grins, takes a sip of his coffee and replies, "Bribery."

"You paid off your roommates?" I ask with some surprise.

"Not with money," he answers. "Though that probably would have worked too, but I didn't have it to spare. I had to be more imaginative."

"What did you use?" I ask, mystified.

"Well, you have to know your audience; mine are essentially frat boys. I told them that if they let me have the front room, I'd be responsible for loading and unloading the dishwasher for the entire school year."

My eyes widen and I gape at him. "Jesus – really?"

He grins. "Yep. Worked like a charm."

"That's a lot of work with five guys in the house."

He shrugs. "There are ground rules. They have to make sure the dishes are here – if not in the dishwasher, at least in the sink and rinsed out. I'm not going around the house collecting dishes. So basically I'm starting it before I go to bed and unloading it in the morning."

"Wow. Is it worth it?"

He cocks one eyebrow at me. "Have you _seen_ my room?"

I chuckle out loud. "Okay, yeah – you made the right choice. I'm impressed! I don't know if I would have thought of that."

Jacey's cell phone beeps with a text message, and I grab both our plates to rinse and put into the dishwasher while he reads it. "It's from Neil," he says, referring to his roommate who has given us the house to ourselves this weekend. "He needs to stop by sometime today to pick up a DVD he needs to return, but he wanted to give me a heads-up first."

"He sounds like a decent guy," I reply.

"He is," Jacey agrees. "I probably get along with him better than anyone else."

"Is he from Austin? Is that why he's working in the city for the summer?"

"He's from Houston, actually," Jacey explains, "but he wanted to stay in Austin because of his girlfriend. His dad's a lawyer, and there's an Austin office of his dad's firm. Neil's working there for the summer. He was at some big conference this week; people from all over the country came to it from what he said. Something about the securities industry, actually."

"Oh! I think I know the conference you're talking about! That's the one Mike was at this week."

"Mike? Your friend Mike? From Chicago?"

"Yeah."

"He was here in Austin this week?"

"Still is, I think," I reply. "He's staying till tomorrow."

"Mike...is in Austin," Jacey repeats slowly.

"It was last-minute," I reply. "One of the senior partners was supposed to come to this conference thing, but he got sick. Mike was the only one who could pick up and go on really short notice. The timing was so weird, too – such a coincidence that we'd be here at the same time."

Jacey nods. "That _is_ a coincidence. So where are we meeting him?"

"Hmm?"

"Aren't we going to hang out with him?"

"No," I shake my head. "I told him I'd be with you this weekend and I wouldn't see him." Jacey stares at me as though he can't believe what I'm saying. "What?"

"Jack, you told your...well, not your best friend, but your _good_ friend, that you're too busy to hang out with him this weekend? When you're both in the same city, 1200 miles from home?"

I'm surprised. Isn't this what Jacey would want? "Well, I told him I was pretty sure I wouldn't be able to see him. I mean, I'm here to see you, and I told him you were making the plans for us this weekend – that it wasn't my call."

"Jesus, Jack; you have to give him a call!"

"Really?"

"Of course!" He seems genuine. "I was thinking we'd go out to a club tonight – why don't you ask him to meet us there?"

"Jacey, are you sure? I did tell him I sort of wanted you all to myself..."

Jacey smiles and reaches out to cup my face. "You _have_ me, Jackie. But your friend is here in Austin and he doesn't know anybody. Besides, I'd like to think someday he'll be my friend too. So, tell you what – I'm going to go take a shower. You give him a call and see what his plans are tonight."

I pull him into my arms and kiss him sweetly. "You are so considerate, Jacey."

For some reason his smile falters minutely. "Um, thanks," he mumbles, giving me a kiss on the cheek. "Okay, I'm going to shower. Call Mike."

"Right away," I answer.

After he's left for the shower, I call Mike. He answers on the third ring and it sounds like he's outdoors. "Hey you," I greet him. "Enjoying the most beautiful city in Texas?"

"Jack!" He sounds surprised. "I didn't expect to hear from you! How's it going?"

"Fine," I reply. "Really great, actually. How about you? How was the conference?"

"You know, I thought I'd be bored out of my skull because the subject matter can be so dry, but actually I learned a lot. It was all really timely stuff, and the speakers were good."

"Hey, that's great. Actually, Jacey's roommate worked at the conference for the week."

"It was packed," he tells me. "There were so many people there."

"Have you seen any of the city yet?"

"I actually did get out one night...let's see, it was Thursday night...to that lake? Lady Bird Lake, I think it's called. They have a trail that loops around the entire lake, so I went for a run. Even with quite a few people out on the trail, walking, biking, whatever, it was still pretty peaceful. And the sunset over the lake was gorgeous. Aside from that, all I saw this week was the sidewalk between the Hilton and the Convention Center, so today's my day to see a bit of the city."

"Ah, what's on the agenda?

"Right now I'm on my way to the Story of Texas museum," he replies, "and then I'm going to take myself out for lunch at Scholz's Garten. I'm glad today's so nice. The weather's supposed to be rainy tomorrow."

"Yeah, that's what I hear. I think Jacey has some outdoorsy stuff planned for us today, too. And then we're going out to a club tonight – this place called Charlie's. It's where we met, actually. I mentioned to him this morning that you're in town, and he forced me to call and invite you."

Mike chuckles. "He forced you?"

"Hey, I told you I wanted him all to myself!" I laugh along with him. "He's the one who suggested it – maybe I need to be worried." Together we laugh again. "Seriously, though, he's right. You're here visiting the city by yourself. We should meet up for a beer tonight. Why don't you meet us at the club?"

"Yeah? I guess I could," he muses. "My flight doesn't go till two; I could manage a later night. I'd like to take in some of the local 'wildlife', so to speak. What time?"

I give him the time and the address for Charlie's. We say goodbye with a promise to meet up later. As I sit at the kitchen island finishing up the last of my coffee, I muse at how sweet it was of Jacey to offer – to insist, really – that we make time to see Mike tonight, and also to add that he'd like to be Mike's friend eventually as well. I love his suggestion that he'd like to be friends with Mike someday, mostly for the allusion that he plans to be part of my life for the long-term.

Having finished my coffee, I head towards the front of the house where the stairs are. Out the living room window, the front porch catches my eye. I unlock the front door and step out onto the porch, where a couple of deck chairs are grouped together with a low table. The porch faces west so it's in shade at the moment, but I sit in the humid morning air and take in the sounds of the neighborhood. I can hear traffic down at the end of the next block – it seems to be a fairly busy main street. I'm anxious to see more of the neighborhood where Jacey spends his days.

The front door opens and I turn to see Jacey step out onto the porch. His hair is still damp and he's dressed casually in shorts, a t-shirt and, for the moment, bare feet. "Here you are," he says. "I couldn't find you; I was starting to think you'd turned into a pumpkin." He sits in the other chair and reaches his hand over to take mine.

"Sorry I disappeared," I apologize. "I was on my way upstairs, but the porch caught my eye. It's so nice out here."

"It's okay," he smiles. "I couldn't agree more; I spend a lot of time out here. Neil and one of the other guys come out once in a while, too, but mostly it's just me." He sighs quietly. "Sometimes I think I'm the only one who really lives here, and the other guys are just sort of staying."

"Maybe it's because you really _inhabit_ the space where you live," I suggest. "You move in to a place and make it your own. I can see that from your room." He looks thoughtful as he mulls this over. I continue, "Have you seen the other guys' rooms? What are they like?"

"Um...two are a bit more like me – I mean, no one else has murals on their walls, but they have posters up and stuff. And the other two – their walls are blank. They each have a bed, a desk, bookshelves, and that's pretty much it. They come here to sleep, eat, and study, but their social lives are completely held elsewhere." He nods. "I guess you're right. I didn't really think about it that way." He squeezes my hand and smiles. "Pretty observant, Jackie."

"I'm looking forward to 'observing' more of your neighborhood," I remark. "I didn't pay much attention when we were driving last night."

He smiles broadly. "I love this neighborhood. I love the restaurants, I love the stores; I even love the hardware store and the grocery – as boring and domestic as that sounds." I squeeze his hand, thinking it actually doesn't sound boring at all. "We – the guys and I – buy our groceries at a co-op a couple of blocks away. They're really into community and social conscience. Oh, and there's this restaurant I want to take you to – unbelievable Greek food, and they have quite a bit of vegetarian stuff on the menu."

"Sounds great," I reply, smiling indulgently at his excitement. "So I guess I should get my ass in gear and go get ready, so we can get out there and you can show me it all, right?"

"Yes!" he agrees, adding as I head for the door, "Oh, and you should dress comfortably. Wear running shoes. And put on sunscreen – there's some on the sink in the bathroom. You're going to need it."

"Is there a solar flare in your neighborhood?"

He smiles. "We're going to be outside for a while this afternoon, smartass. Sunscreen. Wear it."

"Yes, sir." I hold up my hands in surrender before heading upstairs to get ready.

-o-

As Jacey promised, the rest of our morning and the early afternoon are spent wandering around his neighborhood. It really is a vibrant area, and I get the appeal it has for Jacey. I'm dubious about the hardware store, but when he takes me into Breed & Co., I understand what he means. It's more general store than hardware store and I could spend a lot of time in this place alone. We do, in fact, spending about an hour and a half there. I find Jacey staring – quite appropriately – at a multi-colored glass gazing ball. I end up staring at it along with him for a few minutes before he takes my hand and we head to the next place.

I chuckle at the name of the video store he points out – Vulcan Video – but he informs me, quite seriously, that it is the best video store in Austin, with an air of finality that brooks no debate on the matter. I get a better reaction when I point out a place called Toy Joy; unfortunately, it actually is a toy store, "Although," Jacey adds, "they have amazing vegan soft serve there. We should get one later." We make our way up Guadalupe, ducking into several stores Jacey frequents – a clothing exchange, a record store. There are more local businesses here than there are chain stores, and I can see how the local stores support each other, rather than competing.

By the time we get to the restaurant, we're both famished and ready to sit for a while. I'm amazed at how many vegetarian selections there are on the menu – so many that it's difficult to choose. I end up getting a trio of dips – tabouli, eggplant dip and tzatziki – with grilled pita bread, while Jacey goes for souvlaki. Everything is mouthwateringly good and so fresh. When our server comes to take our plates she asks if we'd like dessert. Jacey turns to me and asks, "Have you ever had baklava?"

"I haven't," I reply, "but I don't think I could eat anything else right now."

"We'll take two orders of baklava to go, then, please," he tells the server.

"I knew you wouldn't be able to resist, Jacey," she smiles. "Be right back."

"Looks like they know you here." I reach across the table to take his hand.

"During the summer, I eat here every other Friday night, the weeks I'm home from camp; and during the school year, every payday." He grins. "This is my place. I don't eat out very often; I mean, sometimes I go in with the other guys for pizza or something, but mostly I try to stick to food I make myself. It's less expensive and healthier. When I do eat out, this is where I go, because it's just so good. So they've gotten to know me. Actually..." Here he lowers his voice and leans across the table, closer to me. "Angelica asked me out once."

"Really?" I glance over at the pretty young woman who has looked after us today. "What did you tell her?"

"I told her the truth. She was really sweet about it, too. Have you ever noticed, when you get hit on by a girl, it's _easier_ to tell them you're gay? Like, if you _weren't_ gay, they'd be offended. But, oh, you're gay – nothing personal."

I grin and nod, because I know exactly what he's talking about. Our conversation is cut short, though, by Angelica returning with the bill and our baklava. Jacey insists that lunch is on him, and as we leave I wrap my arm around his waist and whisper that dessert will be on him, too, later tonight when I eat it off his stomach. I feel his shiver and, smirking wickedly, I simply pull him closer and kiss his cheek before we head back to his house.

-o-

The next thing he has planned has us driving downtown to the lake Mike mentioned. Jacey calls it Town Lake, telling me that Austin city council renamed the lake a few years ago, but none of the locals call it by its new name. We cross one of the bridges over the Colorado River to Zilker Park. After parking we walk to a canoe rental concession, where Jacey rents a canoe for a couple of hours. Paddling up the little creek and out into the lake, the view of downtown Austin from the lake is pretty spectacular. I find myself marveling at the huge amount of green space here in the middle of a metropolitan area. We paddle around for a while, passing ducks and swans and other people in canoes, just enjoying the peacefulness of the afternoon.

Before the canoe is due back, Jacey suggests we paddle back to the point at the mouth of the inlet. We bank the canoe and walk up the little bank. The path here is paved with bricks that bear the names of donors. Overlooking the lake is a large gazebo, made of limestone slabs at the base and sides, and a large steel trellis that stretches across the top like a massive spider web. It's an absolutely beautiful spot. We sit on the low gazebo wall that faces the lake, quietly enjoying the view and each other's company. Jacey leans his head on my shoulder and I put my arm around him, kissing the top of his head.

"I love it here," I murmur. "Thank you for bringing me."

He looks up at me, beaming. "I love it, too. When we decided you were going to come to Austin, I knew this was one of the places I had to bring you." I lean in and gently kiss his lips; he hums softly, bringing his hand up to softly stroke my cheek with his fingertips as we kiss. After we pull apart we go back to watching the ducks, until it's time to get the canoe back to the rental place.

After we've returned the canoe, he turns to me and asks, "How are you doing? Are you hungry? Is there anything in particular you want to do now?"

"Actually," I admit, "I wouldn't mind going back to your place and crashing for a while. We're going to be out late tonight...maybe we could just relax for the rest of the afternoon."

He takes my hand and nods. "That sounds perfect." We drive back to his place, finding when we arrive that his housemate Neil is there, along with his girlfriend, Samantha. Jacey introduces us, and they are both friendly and welcoming. We chat with them for about twenty minutes before they leave.

After the door closes, Jacey comes to me, sliding his arms around my waist. "What do you say," he asks, placing random kisses on my neck, "we take our baklava, we go upstairs, and we have some fun?"

"Mmm," I reply, my hands travelling down to his ass and pulling his hips into mine. "That sounds like a very good idea." He takes the baklava out of the fridge, and starts to lead me to the stairs, but I stop him. "Wait – do you have any honey?"

"Honey? Yeah, I think we do." He crosses the kitchen and opens a cupboard, pulling out one of those bear-shaped squeeze bottles half-full. "This okay?"

"Perfect," I grin. "Bring it along too." He quirks one eyebrow, and a slow smile spreads across his face. "Let me grab a couple of glasses of water," I add, "because I have a feeling we might need them to cut the sweetness." When we're stocked with everything we need, we head upstairs and set our treats on the table beside his bed.

"Back in a sec," he murmurs, and returns a moment later with a couple of large bath towels. He spreads them out on the bed to protect the quilt.

"Good idea," I nod.

He turns to me and spreads his arms wide. "Okay, Jackie – this is your show. What would you like me to do?"

"Well, first of all, this is a naked show – so the clothes have to go." We both strip naked before I instruct him to lie on the bed on his back, arms above his head and his legs out straight. I take one of the servings of baklava out of the container and break it into smaller pieces before arranging it on his stomach, around his navel. I drizzle some extra honey over the arrangement and over his skin, anticipating the pleasure of cleaning every bit of it off him.

When the feast is prepared, I begin by picking up one of the smaller pieces of baklava in my teeth and lifting it to his mouth. He opens up and takes the piece I offer him directly from my mouth. He hums as he eats it and I lick my lips, tasting the sweetness of the honey and the bits of phyllo pastry stuck there. Returning to his stomach, I lick some of the honey from his soft, warm skin, holding it on my tongue, and take his gorgeous, semi-hard cock into my mouth. He inhales and sighs, so deeply it's nearly a soft moan. He hardens as my tongue swirls the sweetness around his head and down the shaft. I enjoy sucking on him like a honey lollipop for a few moments before releasing him to feed him another piece of baklava. I give him a piece, this time dipping my tongue into his mouth to taste his sweetness along with the dessert, then return to his stomach to snag a piece for myself. I scoop up more honey and take his cock in my mouth again. He squirms, his hands coming to my head, but I release his cock and move his hands back up to where I want them. "These stay here," I tell him gently. He groans, acquiescing to my instructions.

Over the next forty-five minutes, I repeat the circuit at least seven or eight times. I stop several times for us each to have some water, and I pull away from his cock whenever I sense he's getting too close. Several times I have to put his hands back over his head, finally telling him, "If they come down again, I'm tying them." He nods but the look on his face tells me he's seriously considering challenging me on purpose. Five minutes later, I'm tonguing his nipple when they come down again. I wordlessly get up from his bed and pull down a length of some silky material that is hanging over his bookshelf. Carefully, I wrap it several times around each wrist, then loop it around one of the bars of the wooden headboard, knotting it there. When I return to his nipple, the obscenities that come out of his mouth tell me he's not the least bit sorry his hands are restricted.

Each time I return to his cock, it's evident that he's that much closer, despite me backing off to let him come down a bit. Finally, I have a brilliant idea. I lift his legs so that his knees are up and the soles of his feet rest flat on the bed. I drizzle some of the honey down the crack of his ass and start rimming him. He writhes beneath me, his vocalizations becoming more insistent, more desperate. "Fuck...god, Jack...oh my god...oh, please...jesus...fuck...please..." I continue tonguing his ass, lapping up the sweetness as he moans.

I move up over him again to open the drawer where he keeps the lube, discovering a medium-sized dildo. "Well, well – what have we here?" I ask, smirking wickedly as I retrieve both items from the drawer. Jacey only moans in reply. Knowing exactly what I'm going to do now, I coat both Jacey's ass and the dildo till they're both slick and shiny. I place the head of the dildo at his entrance, and as I begin to press it inside him, I take his cock back into my mouth. Having delayed his release for so long, and now taking both his ass and his cock at once, he's nearly frantic with arousal and desperate need. He pleads for release, but not with words; with moans and wails and gasps, sweating and writhing and thrusting, seeking more. I angle the dildo to stimulate his prostate; he shouts and stiffens and _omgthisclosepleaseletmecome._ I thrust with the dildo a few times, hitting his prostate each time, and he's _wild_, bucking, keening, and fucking my mouth with his throbbing cock, shooting his salty jizz down my throat.

His orgasm seems to go on forever. I continue to fuck his ass and suck his cock, gradually slowing my movements, until his body goes absolutely limp. I release him from my mouth and look at him. His eyes are closed and his mouth is parted; his entire body has a sheen of sweat over it. He moans as I slowly withdraw the toy from his ass. I set it on the floor beside the bed, and undo the fabric that binds his hands, gently moving his arms back down beside his body. I massage his wrists and arms a bit, making sure he's okay. I take a few minutes to go to the bathroom, taking the toy and a bottle of toy cleaner with me. After cleaning it and leaving it to dry, I warm a washcloth and return to Jacey's room. I take my time, making sure all traces of honey are cleaned from his body. He seems unable to move, so I slide the towels out from under him and toss them on the floor. Sliding in beside him, I cover us both with the quilt and gather him into my arms.

"Jack," he murmurs, barely audible. "Jack...I love you."

"I love you too," I reply, kissing his sweat-damp hair.

Weakly, he nuzzles my chest with his head before mumbling, "Love you...don't deserve you..."

I'm surprised for a moment – quite shocked, in fact, because Jacey is definitely not one of those self-effacing types – but almost immediately I realize I must have misheard him. He's completely exhausted and already practically asleep, and he's not speaking very clearly. "Sleep now, sweet boy," I soothe him. "I'll be here when you wake up."

Tired out from the day's activities, I allow the soft rhythm of his slow, steady breathing to lull me as well. I fall asleep thinking that this is already the best day of my life, and it isn't even over yet.

-o-

**Food and toys. FOOD AND TOYS! Om nom nom! **

**There were a number of comments in the Ch 16 reviews, on the jade tendril mural. If you're familiar with the urban artist Mike Ming, I pictured Jacey's mural as emulating Mike's "Water Color Waves" collection. You can find more on Mike at mikeming dot com, as well as on my blog. **

**I'll be contributing the May 7 edition of the Friday Free-for-All on Twilighted – make sure you check it out! **


	18. Chapter 18

**I have to say a HUGE word of thanks to my friend and reader Diane, aka faite-comme-moi, who has (again) been a huge help to me. She has generously shared her time and her Austin knowledge with me; and I'm as grateful to her now as I was when she helped me find a setting for OTT Jasper & Edward's wedding – and wedding **_**night!!**_** Thanks so much, Diane! Xoxo**

**-o-**

_Jack_

"Jackie."

The voice is gentle and alluring, and something tells me I should listen to it; but it's beckoning me out of a dream I don't want to leave – a deep, soft bed, covered with smooth white sheets and a billowy duvet...my body absolutely comfortable, cradled by...someone...

"Jaaaaackie."

My arms tighten around the smooth, warm body beside me; mentally, I dig in and pout, wishing the voice would just leave me alone. Fingers slide into my hair, gently caressing my scalp. The voice persists.

"Cracker Jack...do I need to kiss you awake?" Lips press warm kisses onto my face just in front of my ear, then move down along my jaw. When I still don't respond, the voice adds, "Or maybe kisses aren't the most effective means."

The voice and the presence of my lover fade marginally; but soon – very soon – I know he has simply traded kisses on my jaw, for warm, open-mouthed, tonguing kisses on my cock. Still on the edge of sleep, I feel like I'm drifting through the air, bedded down on a cloud while an angel worships my cock; and I can't quite tell whether it's real or part of my dream.

There's very little, though, that grounds you in reality like your cock in someone's mouth. When the fog of sleep begins to drift from my brain, I am very glad to find that, while I'm not on a cloud or with an angel, much about my dream is essentially the same as reality.

I'm tucked into Jacey's bed, our bodies both slightly overheated from our nap and from being in such close quarters with each other. The covers have been peeled back now, and his head is slowly bobbing over my groin, up and down the length of my...well, it's not exactly morning wood, but pretty close. As relaxed as I already am, as steady and persistent as his attentions are, I'm not going to last long.

Indeed, it's only a few short minutes before I'm arching, pressing deeper and shooting my load into Jacey's very welcoming mouth. I feel the muscles in his throat flex as he swallows; his hands cup my ass, squeezing gently until I relax back onto the bed. I thought I was perfectly comfortable and content in my dream – this is so much better.

Jacey climbs back up beside me and lies on his side, his head propped on his hand. He says nothing, just lies there looking completely self-satisfied, but having the modesty to at least fight the grin I see twitching the corners of his mouth.

"Fine," I concede, putting my hands up in surrender. "I'm awake."

He throws his head back and laughs out loud, then jumps on me, tickling my bare ribs. "You're awake! Is that all you have to say for yourself?" he demands. I roll him onto his back and we wrestle, tickling and trying to pin each other, until we both collapse in laughter. I feel free and uninhibited, joyful in a way I can't remember feeling before in my adult life.

When we collapse, panting onto the bed, having called a truce, I finally look around the room and realize that dusk is advancing. The clock says it's eight; which means we've still got three hours till we're to meet Mike – plenty of time to figure something out for dinner and get ready to go out.

"Are you hungry?" Jacey asks, as if reading my mind.

"Getting there," I reply. "What should we do for dinner?"

"I picked up veggie burgers – does that sound okay?"

I kiss the tip of his nose and reply, "Sounds perfect!"

In the kitchen we work together again. This time Jacey looks after the sweet potato fries and I'm in charge of frying the burgers in the skillet. He's actually going to have a soy burger; he could just as easily pick up some regular hamburgers for himself, but he's voluntarily going to eat what I'm eating tonight. I'm both surprised and touched at his decision.

Dinner is relaxed and comfortable. Jacey puts on some music and we eat at the big kitchen table, just chatting easily and enjoying the food and each other's company. I ask Jacey about work, how things are going, and he immediately starts chattering about how the first group of campers will arrive in just over a week. Each morning he'll work in the visual arts cabin, as he did last year; and he's looking forward implementing to the program he's developed for them.

In terms of his own cabin of campers, he has again been assigned to a group of eleven year olds, the first-year campers. I can see this is what he was hoping for. The way he described his experience with the same age group last year made it clear that he has the compassion and empathy to identify with the kids who are away from home by themselves for the first time.

"It's kinda hard to be an artistic kid in a mainstream setting," he muses to me, before correcting himself. "Well, okay – I'm sure being slotted into any 'group' comes with its own challenges. But...in my experience at least, teachers understood the kids who were genius-level brainy or really athletic. Being quiet and shy and artistic...you're not always sure where you fit in. But the kids come to camp and everyone there is like them. They fit in with each other. The moment that clicks for the first-year kids..." His voice trails off, and he stares at his water glass for a moment, deep in thought; until he blinks and looks up at me. When he finds me watching him, he gives me a small smile. "It's a good feeling."

I reach out to stroke the back of his hand where it rests on the table. "The kids who get you as a counselor will be the luckiest kids there."

He blushes, but he can't contain the smile that illuminates his features. "Thanks, Jackie."

After a moment I ask something I've been wondering about. "So the camp doesn't have a problem with gay counselors?"

"Oh gosh, no," he replies.

"And the parents?"

He looks thoughtful. "This camp is very open about the fact that there is diversity among the campers and staff. The parents of any potential camper have to sign an acknowledgement on their application, to the effect that they know the camp will not ask any staff or campers to hide who they are, including sexual orientation. So we're free to be open about our lives, gay or straight; everyone gets treated with respect."

"That's almost too good to be true," I comment.

"Did I tell you the camp's called Texartopia?" he grins. "It's a little corny, but I understand what they were going for with the Utopia thing. It's just really easy to be for everyone to be themselves there."

"So, are there other gay counselors besides you?"

"Oh, hey," he says abruptly, glancing at the clock on the stove. "It's 9:30. We'd better get showered and get ready if we're going to meet Mike at eleven."

"Damn, I didn't realize the time. I'm glad you noticed. Why don't you go ahead and shower, and I'll clean these up while you do," I suggest, as we both stand.

"You sure?"

"Of course. Go," I smile, smacking his bottom gently.

"Thanks, Jackie." He returns my smile and adds a kiss on the cheek with it, before heading upstairs. I clean up, washing the dishes by hand, and thinking. Something about Jacey suddenly changing the topic feels...I don't know. Off, somehow? Perhaps he did just realize it was time to get ready; but up until then we'd just been talking, no problem. It was after I asked about other gay counselors at the camp...hmm.

The feeling stays with me until we're both showered and dressed, and waiting for the cab we've called to take us downtown. We're sitting on the front porch steps – Jacey on the top step, me on the next one down; his legs are on either side of me and I'm leaning back against his chest. As his fingers curl short twists into my hair, I decide to try again. "Are there other gay employees at the camp?" I ask quietly.

"Yes," he replies, his fingers stilling for a moment; then he bends down, placing a soft kiss behind my ear.

I nod. "Counselors?"

"Two gay counselors besides me; plus two supervisors."

"All men?"

His body stiffens. "Two men, two women." His hands leave my head and neck to rest on his knees. "Any more questions, detective?"

I shift my body and turn to look at him. He looks tense; in fact, his entire body radiates it. His jaw is set and his eyes are defiant. "Jacey," I say, feeling a little hurt, "I'm just asking."

"Feels like an interrogation," he mutters, looking petulantly over my head to the street. "The taxi's here." We both stand and walk out to the curb to where the cab waits.

The first few minutes of the cab ride are silent. I'm profoundly hurt by Jacey's attitude. It's so unexpected, especially from someone who has always been the epitome of his nickname _sweet boy_; and I don't even know what I did to provoke it. I stare out the window at the city lights that pass, trying to figure it out; until I feel Jacey slide close, his body pressing against my side and his arm wrapping around my shoulders.

"Jack," he whispers, "I'm am asshole. I can't believe how rude I was to you." I turn to meet his gaze; far from the insolent look of a few moments ago, they are filled with remorse and pleading. "I'm so sorry."

I hold his gaze for a moment before I answer. He looks genuinely regretful; and yet the sting of his censure is very fresh. "This is new to me, you know?" I begin, looking down to hide the extent of my hurt. "I already feel like I'm the last person who would make a good boyfriend. I'm so clumsy at it. And I'm..." I take a deep breath and close my eyes. "I'm feeling insecure. You're twelve hundred miles away and I'm not great at this and...maybe I'm jealous. I don't know..." I meet his gaze again, and he's listening intently, his expression unreadable. "And I hate feeling this way. I love you, and I love being in love with you; but I don't like feeling powerless."

He grimaces. "I don't want you to feel insecure. I shouldn't have reacted the way I did, when you were just asking about my job." He pulls me close, and I bury my face in his chest.

"Perhaps I _was_ fishing," I admit, from the safety of his shirtfront. "You spend a lot of time in close quarters with people at camp – I know what that environment is like." He's silent, kissing the top of my head. "I guess...maybe I just need reassurance that I don't have anything to worry about."

"I love you," he says as the cab pulls to a stop in front of Charlie's. He releases me from his arms, but clasps my hand firmly in his. "Would it be okay if we continue this conversation tomorrow?"

"Yeah. This isn't the time. It's time to party, right?" I manage a smile, squeezing his hand.

"I guess so." He smiles gently, and lifts my hand to his lips and kisses the back of it. He has the money for the cab already in his hand; he passes it over the seat to the driver, and we slide out of the car. On the sidewalk, we stand, hands clasped, looking around for Mike. Less than a minute later, a cab pulls up where ours was, and Mike gets out.

"Hey!" he greets us enthusiastically. I release Jacey's hand and pull Mike into a hug. I think he's taken aback, at first, by the force of my embrace; but soon returns it. For my part, I'm feeling out of my comfort zone, I just had an argument with my boyfriend, and I need reassurance from one of my best friends. Mike seems to sense my mood. "Everything okay?" he whispers.

"It's okay," I murmur back, releasing him.

"Well, wow!" he says, grinning. "Is _that_ how they say hello in Texas?" He turns to Jacey, an expectant smile and arms held wide. Jacey, being a good sport, plays along and steps into Mike's bear hug.

"Mike, great to see you again," he says warmly. "Welcome to Austin."

"It's good to see you too," Mike replies, giving Jacey a good-natured smile as they step apart.

"How's your trip been?" Jacey asks.

"It's been great," Mike enthuses, as we turn to head into the bar. "I love it here. Not sure I couldn't handle the humidity all the time, but the city is beautiful."

"It is," Jacey agrees. The loud music inside the bar makes conversation more challenging; but once we've got a round of drinks from the bar, we find a free table at which we can stand and they continue to chat, Jacey providing Mike with some background on a few of the buildings he's seen in the city.

For my part, I sip my drink and listen to them talk; they're really carrying the conversation and I take advantage of not having to contribute, to steady my tattered nerves. Jacey has his arm wrapped tightly around my waist, not relaxing his grip throughout his conversation; once in a while he squeezes a bit tighter. I know he is trying to comfort and reassure me; I take deep breaths and allow the warmth of his body close to me to calm me.

When Mike offers to go get us a second round, I'm feeling mostly better. My spirits are still a bit dampened, but as soon as Mike's back is turned, Jacey pulls me to him and kisses me, deep and passionate. He backs me slowly up to the wall a couple of feet from our table, and we make out, passion flaring between us. He takes advantage of having me braced against the wall, grinding his hips into mine. By the time he releases me a few minutes later, I'm panting and my cock is dripping. "Don't suppose there's a back room here," I say into his ear.

He laughs out loud. "That won't be very polite to Mike, would it?"

I sigh with exaggerated frustration. "Right...Mike. Great idea you had to force me to invite him." I wink at Jacey just as Mike returns to the table with our drinks.

"Did I miss anything good?" he asks, sliding our drinks across the surface to us. Jacey and I, our faces flushed, exchange a grin; and Mike grouses, "Oh, fine. Rub it in my face."

"Sorry, Mike," Jacey says, looking abashed.

Mike's eyebrows rise. "Sorry? For what?"

"For being inconsiderate. I know your last relationship didn't end well," Jacey replies. Mike and I exchange a warm glance; somehow Jacey didn't pick up that Mike's words were tongue-in-cheek.

"I think he was teasing us, sweet boy," I reassure Jacey, who looks to Mike for confirmation.

Mike nods, but with a grateful smile to Jacey. "I _was_ teasing," he agrees, "but thank you. I see why Jack calls you sweet boy." He grins at me and I return it with a knowing nod. "You're right about my last relationship; it went down in flames. But I'm also really glad Jack's happy. I would never begrudge anyone that...despite being insanely jealous of your situation."

Jacey and I share a smile and a quick kiss, and a mildly awkward silence ensues. It's broken when Mike slaps the table and says, "Okay, we're getting _way_ too serious! I think we should get out there and dance." We each down the rest of our drinks before make our way through the mass of bodies, to the crowded dance floor. The music blares, the beat throbbing beneath our feet, and we sway and pitch with it. Jacey sees several people he knows, attempting to shout introductions to me over the music; but mostly we just dance, the three of us. Jacey and I try to keep our dancing – well, not clean, exactly, but _less_ dirty than we normally would, since Mike is with us. He seems to be having a great time; and I'm really glad he's here with us and enjoying himself.

Mike leaves after a while to use the men's room, and I take advantage of his absence to pull Jacey tight to me. "Hey," I tell him, "if I'm not mistaken, I think we were dancing right about here, that first night."

His face lights up and he nods enthusiastically. "You're right. And it was over there..." He points to an area to the side of the dance floor. "Over there was where I was standing the next night, watching for you...hoping you'd come back, even though I thought it was too much to hope for." He kisses me gently before adding, "I guess I should have known that nothing's too much to hope for; because there you were." I tighten my embrace around his waist and lower my lips to his neck, placing sucking wet kisses up his throat to his jaw, until Mike rejoins us.

After nearly an hour we're thirsty and hot; and I suggest we go get something to drink. Jacey and Mike agree; and the three of us thread through the crowd to the bar. As we're standing at the bar with our drinks, a friend of Jacey's comes up and tells us that a group of his friends are leaving Charlie's to go to another bar closer to the lake. He asks if we'd like to meet them there. Jacey turns to Mike and me. "It's called Oilcan Harry's," he says. "You're staying at the Hilton, right, Mike? The Can is only a few blocks from there."

I turn to Mike to get his opinion. He nods with a little shrug, indicating that he's game if we are. "Yeah," I tell Jacey. "Sounds good to me." He tells his friend we'll be along in a little bit, after we've finished our drinks. We debate whether to take a cab down or walk, finally deciding on a cab. We pull up in front of the bright, red-painted building, where people mill around outside the door. Jacey's friends are among them; it seems they're having a smoke before going inside, so we stand with them for a few moments in the night air.

Mike is talking, saying something about the humidity, when he trails off in mid-sentence. I look over at him; he's staring at a group of men standing fifteen feet away. "Mike?" I ask. "Hello?" He doesn't respond.

"Maybe the humidity fried his brain," Jacey grins.

"Mike!" I say again. Finally he startles a bit, returning his attention to us.

"Sorry," he says. "I thought..." He looks back at the group, and he shakes his head. "Hang on," he tells us. "Just...wait here, I'll be back." Leaving us, he approaches the group hesitantly. The men turn to look at him curiously; but one of them has a look of profound surprise upon his face. He steps toward Mike, taking his arm and drawing him several feet away from the others. I can't hear their conversation, but it's obvious they know each other and were not expecting to see each other tonight.

"What the heck was that about?" Jacey voices my thoughts exactly.

"No idea," I reply, trying not to be too obvious about watching them. The man is tall, Mike's height, and slim; aside from that, all I can tell is that he has dark, shaggy hair.

Jacey suggests, "Maybe it's someone he met at the conference this week?"

I nod. "Yeah, that makes sense. I'll bet you're right." I keep watching, making sure there isn't any trouble; but their interaction doesn't seem confrontational at all. "Maybe he's going to hook up."

"Maybe they already have," Jacey smirks.

I shrug, returning my attention to the boy standing so close to me; I smile and kiss him softly, several times. He hums with contentment and rests his head against my shoulder. Now that we're quiet, it registers with me that the music flowing into the street from inside is country music. I sigh, muttering, "More country music."

Jacey lifts his head from my chest and laughs at me. "Sorry, Jackie. This is Texas. Doesn't have to be a cowboy bar to have country music."

I grimace, replying, "I'm starting to notice that."

He raises his eyebrows, before leaning in and murmurs, "Besides, in _my_ previous experience, you find cowboys quite inspiring." He takes advantage of being close to my ear, to glide his tongue along the outside of my lobe.

"Mmm," I moan quietly. "You don't play fair."

"Oh, I've never, ever promised to play fair."

Beside us, the sound of someone clearing their throat has us stepping back slightly. Mike, with a sheepish grin on his face, is watching us. Before we can speak, he says, "Um...yeah. So, I'm gonna take off."

"What?" I ask with surprise. I look past Mike to see that the boy hasn't moved from where they stood talking; he's watching us with interest. I give him a nod before returning my attention to Mike. "Well, well, Michael Newton. You work much faster than I realized."

Beside me, Jacey rolls his eyes at me and shakes his head. Mike mirrors Jacey's expression, before telling him, "Jacey, it was good to see you again. I'm really glad you invited me tonight."

Jacey chuckles as he gives Mike a parting hug. "I'll bet you are," he replies playfully.

Mike turns to me. "I'll talk to you this week." He gives me a kiss on the cheek and then, saying, "Bye, guys," he turns and rejoins the boy, heading down the street in the direction of his hotel, several blocks away.

We watch them disappear down the street, and my last remark, before Jacey takes my hand and pulls me into the club, is, "Well, I am going to expect a full report on _that_ on Tuesday."

Inside, Jacey and I are free, now, to be as wrapped up in each other as we wish, without having to worry about ignoring anyone. We take full advantage of it, too: making out on the dance floor as we grind together; letting our hands wander wherever we wish, without caring who's watching. Jacey turns his back to me, pressing his ass against my jeans; I grasp his hips tightly and press my hard cock into his ass, groaning at the delicious friction there. We dance – sort of – for more than an hour, teasing and groping and thoroughly enjoying it, until Jacey finally grabs my face between his hands. "Let's get out of here," he suggests. I agree immediately, and after Jacey says a quick goodbye to his acquaintances, we flee the club.

The cab ride back is torture; we're both so aroused and can hardly wait to get to Jacey's. He makes it even more painful by rubbing my cock through my jeans, while I try desperately not to react in view of the cab driver. By the time we get home, I'm so hard it hurts to walk, my cock constricted within tight-fitting jeans. I have a damp spot in my briefs where I've leaked seminal fluid in anticipation of more than just being felt up through a layer of denim. As Jacey fumbles with his key in the door, I press him into the door, sucking a mark into the skin where his neck meets his shoulder. He groans, finally getting the door unlocked, and we stumble through it as it falls away from us.

He slams and locks the door and we immediately start peeling off our clothes, kissing our way up the stairs; by the time we reach his room, the only thing left to remove is our briefs, and they don't last long. Both of us now naked, he pushes me towards the bed, crawling over top of me after I sprawl out on my back. His smooth body against mine feels so good; my cock, so sensitive from his teasing, is begging for real touch, for his hands and mouth and...

"Ohhhh," I groan when he lies on top of me, his cock pressing into mine. He kisses me and I pull that pouty lower lip of his into my mouth, sucking on it gently, massaging its fullness with my tongue. He does the same thing to my top lip, and though I thought a moment ago that I needed to fuck _rightthisminute_, I settle in to enjoy this. The contact of his cock against mine feels so amazing that I want – I need – to take some time to savor it.

Jacey moves his legs out to straddle my hips, giving him more control over how he moves against me. He gently slides his cock up and down mine, dragging torturously along the length. It's so fucking good, and gets even better when he stops long enough to drizzle some warming lube on me before resuming. The heat produced by the fluid is simply mind-blowing. I sigh with each slow pass.

"Fuck, Jack, you're so beautiful; amazing. Gorgeous," Jacey whispers. I open my eyes to find him watching my face intently. His own face reacts with minute changes – the lift of an eyebrow, a slight nostril flare, a widening of the part between his lips – as his body absorbs the sensations.

"You're beautiful too, Jacey," I tell him. "From the first moment I saw you – the most beautiful boy I've ever seen in real life."

"Can I...I want to..." he begins, and then stops.

"Tell me," I encourage.

"Can I make love to you?" he whispers.

"You want to top me?" I clarify, and he nods. Rather than answer him directly, I continue, "You want your body in mine, your cock deep in my tight ass, feel the heat of my body from the inside, feel me clench around your cock while you rock my body..."

"Oh, god," he blurts. "Yes! I want you, Jack, please."

"Yes," I hiss, "god, fuck me." Immediately he reaches for a condom, tearing the packet and putting it on swiftly. He lifts my knees, pulling them up to my chest so that my ass is completely open and exposed to him. After lubing us both thoroughly, he moves close, the tops of his thighs resting against my ass. Holding his cock in one hand, he rubs the head back and forth across the tightly gathered entrance; I feel the muscle flutter with a light, involuntary spasm. "I love you, Jackie," he says, and starts to push into me. I clamp down against the discomfort, closing my eyes, but... "Hey, look at me," he tells me. "Breathe." I breathe in and out a few times, relaxing my body on each exhale, and he pushes a little deeper each time. When the widest part of the head finally slips past the breach, I sigh in relief.

"I've had fantasies about this, Jackie," he says, his voice roughened by desire and restraint. He grasps my shoulders for leverage as he sinks slowly in, an inch at a time. "Since the first time you gave yourself to me, I've pictured it so many times – watching you beneath me, seeing my cock disappear inside you..." He bottoms out, and we both groan.

"Good as you remembered?" I ask, my own voice husky.

"Uhhhh," he huffs, withdrawing most of the way and sliding back in. "Fuck, even better than I remembered. There's nothing...nothing like this."

"Only for you," I remind him. "You're the only..._oh_...the only one."

He pulls my legs around his waist and I grip tightly, encouraging him to fuck me harder. Holding himself up with one arm, his free hand strokes and teases the head of my cock. I agree with him – there's no feeling like this in the world; and the reason it's so special is because I feel so strongly for him. "Love you," I tell him, still looking into his eyes.

"Love you..." His body stiffens; he loses some of his rhythm as he gasps, "Oh, fuck...I'm so close."

"It's okay," I urge him. "I'll right behind you."

"You just feel so good...Jackie...oh...yeah!" He shouts as he comes, thrusting hard, our skin slapping together. I place my hand over his on my cock, resuming the strokes that soon bring me off with him. I've simply never felt a more powerful orgasm in my life than when Jacey takes me; it radiates from my groin throughout my entire body, both consuming and filling me. It's incredibly intense.

After Jacey pulls out and cleans us up, he collapses beside me. "Jackie," he begins, "that was..."

I grin weakly. "I know."

He opens his arms and I manage to pull my weak body close to him, resting my head on his chest. "Thank you," he whispers. "I love you, Jackie."

"I love you, too." The smell of his sweat-damp skin is sexy and comforting at the same time. The scent surrounds me, combining with the beating of his heart beneath where my head rests, and just the feel of his arms and his love. They are a potent tranquilizer; and in my weak, post-coital state, I succumb even before Jacey's familiar sleep murmur begins.

**-o-**

**A couple of things on my fandom calendar in the next week or two: I was invited to contribute to the Author Blog feature on the Edwardville LiveJournal community, and my submission was posted today. It's not really about fanfic or anything Twilight-related; it's just about me. :) Link is on my blog.  
**

**I'm also one of the authors in TLYDF's next Guess That Drabbler round, which will be posted on May 17. See if you can spot my writing! **


	19. Chapter 19

**Thanks again to Diane for her Austin help and for pre-reading this chapter. Thank you also to Maria (amanecer01) who sent me a link to a certain website – it proved very inspirational! :)**

-o-

_Jack_

Sunday, I wake to hear the unrelenting patter of rain on the gable roof above Jacey's room. It's not exceptionally early – just before eight – but the heavy cloud and rain makes it dark outside, and darker still indoors.

I find myself alone in Jacey's bed. I didn't hear Jacey get up, but I can hear faint movement downstairs in the kitchen. I don't feel like getting up yet; I lie in his bed, taking advantage of the chance to hear rain on a roof. It's something I seldom get to hear, having lived in one apartment or another, always with solid walls and an apartment overhead. It's such a relaxing sound. As I lie I consider the possibility of buying a house. I love my apartment; but more and more I find I miss the comforts of an actual home.

Jacey interrupts my reverie by peeking his head in the door. "Hey," he says softly. "You're awake."

"I am," I reply. He comes into the room carrying a cup of coffee in either hand. I sit up and slide over towards the wall so he can sit on the edge of the bed. Once I lean back against a pile of pillows, he hands me one of the cups.

"Did you sleep well?" he asks.

I take a sip of coffee and nod. "I did, thank you. I was just lying here enjoying the sound of the rain."

"Oh yeah," he agrees. "That's one of the things I love about this room; well, _another_ one of them." He leans back against the wall and we sit quietly for a long time, drinking our coffee and listening to the rain and just _being_.

"Is it supposed to rain all day?" I finally ask.

"No," he replies. "Supposed to clear out later this afternoon, and I hope so, because there's someplace I want to take you. We can go in the rain, but it won't be as comfortable."

"Well, if we don't do it today, we can probably do it tomorrow," I reply; but Jacey shakes his head.

"It happens at sunset," he tells me. "We won't be here at sunset tomorrow." My interest piqued, I ask him what he has planned; but he only smiles. "You'll see. We'll go either way; and if it's raining we'll just have to dress appropriately."

"Okay," I agree, because there's not much else I can do, but I add, "You sure know how to build suspense."

He chuckles and sets his empty coffee cup on the table beside the bed. "Is yours gone?" he asks; I nod, and he takes the cup and places it beside his. He pulls his legs closer to his body to sit cross-legged, and leans towards me, looking at me seriously.

"Jack," he begins, "last night we said we'd finish that conversation today. If I could be a little selfish, I'd really like to do it now, so we can enjoy the rest of the day."

My stomach clenches at his request, but I share his reasoning. I'd rather not spend the day with it looming ahead of us. I nod and reply, "I think that's a good idea. Why don't you start?"

He takes a deep breath and exhales it slowly. "Okay. Last night you said you felt insecure and a little jealous, and you hoped you didn't have anything to worry about." I nod in agreement. "When I left Chicago, we had come to an understanding that we weren't going to be exclusive. I told you I was going to go forward." He takes my hand between his, giving me a meaningful look. "Jack...I _have_. I've gone forward."

"Meaning...you've been with other guys," I translate, feeling numb.

"Yes," he answers kindly, adding, "Haven't you?"

I sigh and accept the logic of his reasoning, prodding me gently towards the unmistakable reality of the situation. "A couple times."

He tilts his head a bit to one side, giving me a compassionate smile. "I know by the time you came here things had changed. I mean, you told me you love me." He reaches out to lift my face towards him, cupping his hand under my chin. "That made me so happy; because I love you too." He leans close, kissing me chastely on the lips before continuing. "But Jackie, we haven't talked about this...agreement...since Chicago. Since I left, you haven't suggested we become exclusive, or even brought up the subject again. You can't just say you love me and figure that I'll know exactly what you expect that to entail. Last night you said something about being my boyfriend; and all I could think was that I don't even know when you started calling me that. Jack...I feel like you have all this stuff going on inside your head that I don't know about. It's like you have a conversation with yourself and you get it all worked out, and I'm supposed to just _know_ and keep up with you, when you haven't told me any of it. I need you to _talk_ to me." He exhales, rubbing his hand across his eyes. I'm struck, not only by the truth in what he's saying, but also by the recognition that he's truly frustrated with me.

I look down at my hands in my lap. "You're right," I answer quietly. "I think about everything, analyze it and work through it and keep it all compartmentalized in my brain. I guess...I'm used to not having any overlap between feelings and sex. They're two separate things – each one has its own pocket. I've never, ever had sex with someone I love; and I've never loved someone I had sex with...until you, Jacey. I swear, the separation between them cracked the first night I was with you; and a little more every time since then, until Friday night when...I just knew." I sigh. "Maybe I said it too soon...I was only thinking about how _I_ felt..."

"I'm glad you said it, Jackie." He reaches out to stroke the back of my hand. "I'm glad you opened up. But the next question is, where does that leave our agreement? We love each other, but really...that's the only thing that's changed."

"You told me in March that you were hoping for more," I remind him. "Do you not want that now?"

"I'd like to think that there's always the possibility of more for you and me, Jackie," he smiles. "But the other reasons you had for asking for this arrangement in the first place haven't changed – the biggest one being that we live _so_ far away from each other. Not knowing when we'll be together again...and these days we can hardly get each other on the phone. Even after the summer's over, I won't be finished school for two years. Those were all reasons you gave me then, and you assured me that you could have casual sex and keep it separate from what we have. Has _that_ changed?"

I consider the question for a moment before answering. Would I have sex with someone else now that I know how deep my feelings are for Jacey? Even without having sat down and thought it through since my realization, I can no longer visualize going out and picking up a casual fuck. I answer his question honestly. "I don't know if I can separate it anymore, or if I want to."

He picks at a piece of fuzz on his quilt, not looking at me. "The hopes I had before, Jack, that you'd been celibate while we were apart...they were completely unrealistic, I know that now. I think we should have a bit of flexibility to hook up when we're in different cities."

I can't blame him if he needs more than just me telling him I'll try; if he feels more comfortable with evidence of practical application of the commitment before he agrees to an exclusive relationship – especially with the distance between us. At the same time, it hurts to realize he doesn't quite trust me to keep it in my pants – and it doesn't _quite_ sound like the same Jacey who told me life is a risk.

He sighs, murmuring, "Why can't we ever be on the same page at the same time?"

I chuckle humorlessly. "If it was easy, it wouldn't be my life."

He reaches out to stroke my cheek, and we lapse in to silence for a few moments, before he prompts, "So you haven't really answered the big question."

"Which is...?"

"If you'll continue the agreement we've had."

I contemplate for a moment before asking, "I have a question first. Why did you get so defensive last night when I asked about your coworkers?" He looks down, his long eyelashes brushing his tanned cheeks. "I just need to know the truth, Jacey. We're honest with each other, right? Even when the truth hurts." He nods, still looking at his lap. "Is there someone you work with that you..." I don't finish the question.

He grimaces, tucking the corners of his mouth, before nodding. "Yes."

"Oh."

"Yeah." He looks at me with a sympathetic expression. "Jack, I'm s—"

"No, don't. Don't apologize, please," I tell him. "I asked, and you were honest. It's fine."

"It's not fine," he contradicts. "Nothing that hurts you is _fine._ And I _am_ sorry you're hurt; I never wanted that to happen."

"Christ, where have I heard this conversation before," I mutter.

"No shit." He slouches down in the bed, staring across the room at one of his murals. A long silence follows our conversation until I realize I still haven't answered his question. "I told you in March that I don't want to lose you, Jacey." I reach out and take his hand. "You can add that to your list of things that haven't changed."

He looks at his hand in mine and squeezes gently. "I'm going to start a new list. It's called 'Things that Need to Change'. The number one item: we have _got_ to talk. We can't let it get to this point anymore. I know it's hard...when we're only together once in a while and we our only communication is phone conversations...and even those don't always happen when we want them too...but I don't care. Even if we've gotta do it by email, we need to talk about this shit, _before_ it gets to the point where one of us is apologizing for hurting the other."

"Yes," I agree. "I know. And...what you said before is true – I do live inside my own head when it comes to this stuff. I just..." I stop, worried that if I continue I'll sound like I'm making excuses; but almost immediately I realize: this is exactly what Jacey's talking about. He needs me to say it out loud. "Jacey, I was in love with Ashton for...well, too long. The entire time, I never said a word to him about how I felt. Not even one time – not even when I'd been drinking. I had it buckled down so tight, because I didn't want to screw up my friendship with him. It's become – I don't know – a learned response, I guess? And it's going to take me some time to unlearn it."

Jacey stares at me; his eyes wide, he looks taken aback. "What?" I ask.

"Jack, I think that's the most honest you've ever been with me." I manage a little smile as I realize he's probably right. He continues, "I'm equally to blame, though. We've both avoided conversations we should have had. It doesn't matter now – what matters is that, going forward, we change our ways. Agreed?"

"Agreed," I reply. He opens his arms to me and I move over to sit beside him. We kiss tenderly, before I rest my head on his shoulder.

"Want to go get some breakfast?" he asks.

"Mmm...in a bit," I reply. "For now, I just want you to hold me."

Against my face, I can feel his cheeks move into a smile. "Honesty," he whispers, barely audible. "It's good for everybody."

-o-

We end up going out for breakfast, to a restaurant just down at the end of the block. Before we leave the house, I send a text to Mike. He went someplace I don't know with someone I haven't met last night, and I'll feel better if I just make sure everything's cool and he's getting ready to head back to Chicago. _Good morning. Just wanted to check in – everything good?_ He replies almost immediately, _Everything's good. Thanks for checking on me. :) _My mind at ease, we leave for the restaurant.

Because it's so close, we walk to it in spite of the rain, holding hands and jumping puddles. The restaurant has free-range eggs and a number of meatless options, and I end up with the best French toast I've ever eaten. We sit in one of the shuttered windows along the side of the building, looking out at the steady rain splashing on the pavement. Several times one of us catches the other's eye and smiles; or reaches across the table to caress a hand. Our meal is quiet, each of us spending time in the company of our own thoughts; but it's not uncomfortable or awkward.

When breakfast is over we walk back to the house to pick up my rental car. Jacey also insists on grabbing an umbrella. He has planned a visit to the Austin Museum of Art, one of his favorite places in the city. "The Downtown location is closer," he tells me as he drives west to the museum, "but Laguna Gloria is beautiful. I could spend hours there."

When we pull up to the museum, I'm surprised to find that it looks more like an Italian villa than the modern building I was anticipating. Jacey gives me a bit of history on the woman who, with her husband, built the beautiful white mansion as their home; and donated it to be a museum when they had passed away. The pamphlet I pick up inside says there are twelve acres of grounds surrounding the home – terraced gardens, sculptures and fountains among them.

Together we walk through the collection of art inside the home, an exhibition called Art & Nature. It consists of a variety of installations – canvasses, line drawing and sculpture – but Jacey tells me, as we wander slowly through, that he comes as much for the home itself as for the artwork. I ask him whether he's ever gone to any of the classes the museum offers. "Well...most of those classes are really intended for beginners; or for people for whom art is a hobby. What I would be learning, I already know. I did take one, last fall – it was a class on how to fuse glass. I just took it for my own interest, and I was the only guy in the class; but I loved it. It was a lot of fun."

After we make our way through the collection, he draws me outside and opens the umbrella. The house is built on a peninsula, with Lake Austin on one side and the lagoon on the other. Jacey links his arm in mine and leads me out into the formal gardens, the umbrella spanning us.

I remark that it's too bad it had to rain today. "Oh," Jacey says, "we're not allowed to complain about rain here."

"Not _allowed_?" I repeat, unsure I heard him properly.

"No way. We're recovering from a two-year drought. Restaurants only just started bringing water to people's tables again without being asked."

"Really?" I reply. "That's pretty bad."

"Yeah, we had stage two water restrictions two summers ago." He looks around us. "Thank goodness it doesn't seem to be happening this year."

Because of the rain, we are the only people outside – essentially giving us the entire place to ourselves. The perfectly manicured lawns have several fountains in them, and they're nice enough; but it's the gardens themselves that appeal most to me. Each one has its own charm: the Four Season garden with its Venetian sculptures; the sunken garden with a Charles Umlauf sculpture; and the stone-terraced amphitheatre that looks out over the lake. We continue walking out the peninsula, passing sculptures on our way, until, at the end of the path, we reach what looks like a small Greek temple, surrounded by a stone courtyard. It is, in fact, called the Temple of Love, Jacey says, and we ascend the steps to stand under the gazebo roof that is supported by four white columns.

Although the temple is quite small, the rain is coming straight down, and so our umbrella is not needed. Jacey collapses it and leans it against one of the columns. As we stand and stare out into the garden, looking between the raindrops that fall, it suddenly seems that the rain has picked up – perhaps only for a few moments, but it's certainly coming down heavier than it was. The downpour is noisy on the roof above our heads. I move behind Jacey, wrapping my arms around his waist and resting my head on his shoulder. He hums and tips his head to touch mine.

"So peaceful here," I remark.

"This is the first time I've been here that there's no one else around," he adds. "I'm glad it was today."

"Why's that?

He turns in my arms, to face me. "So I won't have an audience when I do this." He loops his arms around my neck and presses a sweet kiss against my lips. "I love you," he whispers when he releases my lips.

"I love you, too." I return his kiss, and with the rain pounding around us, we kiss for long moments. Slow, pure; deeply passionate, but without urgency. Taking our time as we are, knowing that this can't escalate to anything else while we are in this venue, I am able to simply enjoy him: the feel of his lips against mine, the brush of the tiny bit of whisker growth on his chin, the taste of his tongue...I commit them all to memory. My hand comes up his back and finds its way into the thick waves of deep brown hair that hang down far enough to cover the collar of his t-shirt; I feel the silken strands slip and twine over my fingers. Jacey's fingers caress the back of my neck. The only thought in my head, other than how much I love Jacey, is that I never want this to end.

It does, though, some minutes later when someone clears their throat. Jacey and I both look to find a couple, probably around my age, standing about twenty feet away. They are hand-in-hand, watching us from under an umbrella of their own; the man holds the umbrella and the woman carries a small picnic basket. They smile warmly at us, which we return.

"Sorry to interrupt," the woman calls.

"Not at all," Jacey replies. "Come in out of the rain."

Without hesitation, they join us. "Thanks," says the woman gratefully. "This rain is crazy."

"We're not supposed to complain about it," the man reminds her good-naturedly.

Jacey laughs and turns to me. "See?" Explaining to the couple he tells them, "I was just telling my boyfriend – he's from out of town – about the drought and that we're not allowed to complain when it rains." The man and woman both join Jacey's laughter; when it subsides he gestures at their basket. "Probably not the greatest day for a picnic?"

"Not ideal, but kind of a special day," the man replies, smiling at his partner.

"It's our first wedding anniversary," the woman tells us, though she looks at her husband as she speaks. "We got married here at the Temple, one year ago today."

Jacey and I reply at the same time. "Wow!" he exclaims. "That's fantastic."

"Congratulations," I offer warmly.

"We also got engaged here," the man offers. "So we sort of _had_ to come back today; there isn't anywhere else we'd want to go."

"No, of course," Jacey agrees. "What a perfect place for a wedding."

"It _was _perfect." The man and woman hold their smile a moment longer, then turn to us. "Are you married?" she asks.

"Oh, uh...no," Jacey replies as we grin at each other.

I add, "We haven't been together all that long yet."

"Ah," she replies, though the way she looks speculatively at us tells me she's sizing us up. Females – I swear, once they're happy themselves, all they want to do is match up other people – even people they don't know.

"Well," I say, picking up our umbrella, "I think we should let you two have the Temple to yourselves."

"Absolutely," Jacey agrees.

They both put up a small protest, saying we don't have to leave, but I reply, "No, we've been here for a while already. You have a celebration waiting for you. It was good to meet you – I'm Jack, by the way; this is Jacey."

"Zach," the man offers, "and my wife Chris." We shake hands with them both and then I open up the umbrella.

"Happy anniversary," Jacey offers as we leave. "Enjoy your picnic." They both smile gratefully and wave, and then we're through the trees and they're out of our sight. We slowly walk back toward the villa, arms around each other and the handle of the umbrella pressed between us. The warmth of the couple's excitement and love stays with us for the rest of the afternoon.

-o-

Fortunately, the rain ends in the late afternoon, and by the time we're finished dinner, the clouds have rolled away. Jacey still hasn't told me what we're doing tonight, but he seems very glad that it has cleared. I am too; if we're going to be outside, I'd rather not come home with soaking wet feet again.

We leave the house about an hour before sunset. Again he drives – I could honestly get used to be chauffeured around, it's really not so bad – this time heading back downtown, towards Town Lake. We cross a bridge and as soon as we reach the south shore, he turns off into a parking lot in front of the park that surrounds the lakeshore. Jacey opens the trunk and pulls out a couple of folding lawn chairs. "When did you put those in there?" I ask.

"When you went to put on dry socks," he grins. "Come on – let's go find a spot."

"A spot for what?" I ask, but he's already walking towards the grass, and simply tosses a smile over his shoulder at me. I follow, muttering, "Anyone who accuses me of keeping secrets has obviously never met Jacey Fort Knox." When I catch up to him, he's unfolding the chairs; he sets them on the grass facing toward the bridge. I look around and notice that others are doing the same thing; people are assembling here as though we're expecting a performance. He sits in one chair and gestures to the other.

I sit as instructed, and he reaches for my hand, lacing his fingers into mine and grinning at me, before looking down the hill that slopes toward the water. We sit in silence for a few moments before I crack. "Okay. What am I missing?"

"Hush," he tells me. "Just enjoy the evening. It's beautiful out now."

I look around, realizing that not only are there people down here on the grass, but quite a few are beginning to congregate up on the bridge itself.

We sit, people-watching, for fifteen minutes as the sun sinks lower in the sky. Finally, only the tops of the tallest buildings are bathed in it, and Jacey squeezes my hand. "Watch," he says, pointing to the bridge. Suddenly, from below the concrete span emerges a large flock of...something. They look like birds, but it seems late in the evening for birds. That means they must be...

"Bats," Jacey says, and my jaw falls open as they simply pour out into the open air from under the bridge, flying toward the east. The flock winds through the air like a massive billowing ribbon, and they just keep flowing out of the dusky underside of the bridge, into the evening sky - what must be thousands and thousands of them.

After we've watched for a few moments, I turn to Jacey. "How many are there?"

"About a million and a half," he replies. "It's the largest urban bat colony in the world."

"Holy shit," I reply, turning back to watch the stream wend their way along the river.

"They live in Mexico in the winter, and migrate here each summer. Every night around sunset they come out to feed."

"When I was in high school, we used to go play basketball at the school after the football team was done with practice, before they shut off the stadium lights. The bats would come out then, and you couldn't actually see the bats, but their eyes would reflect the light as they flew around feeding on the bugs that were attracted to the lights. That was cool; but I have never seen anything like this." It's difficult to fathom the sheer number of creatures who are making their way out to feed.

"I thought about having us stand up on the bridge," Jacey remarks, "but they fly out and then sometimes they double back right away – they're flying basically right up at you, if you're close to the railing. I didn't know how you felt about bats - it could have been bad."

I laugh out loud at the mental image of someone who's afraid of bats, standing there as a million and a half of them jet past only a few feet from their head. "They don't bother me, but if someone didn't like them it would _not_ be a nice surprise."

"Exactly," he grins.

Finally the stream ends, a few stragglers flapping off behind the flock. People around us are chattering excitedly about the spectacle. They begin to move back to their vehicles, and Jacey and I stand and, folding up the chairs, do the same.

The rest of the evening we spend at Jacey's. We watch a movie together in his living room; Jacey sits on the couch and I lie with my head resting on his lap. His hand gently strokes my hair, rubs my upper arm and shoulder; it feels very relaxed and domestic. As sweet as it is, though, I'm acutely aware of the fact that this is my last night here. The plan for tomorrow is for us to have a leisurely morning - it's a holiday, after all - and then I am to drive Jacey out to the camp before returning to Austin for my 6:00 pm flight. Despite that I still have most of a day left with Jacey, this being my last night makes it feel like the trip is quickly drawing to a close.

When the end credits roll on the movie, Jacey asks, "Did you want to watch another?"

"Nope," I reply honestly. "I sure don't."

I look up to find him looking perplexed as he turns off the TV and DVD player with the remote. "Hmm. Well, I don't know what else there is to do. A game of Scrabble? Parcheesi, maybe?" He can't hold his expression, and realizing it's a lost cause, he grins broadly at me. "Or did you have something else in mind, Cracker Jack?"

I sit up and turn to face him, returning his grin. "Bet your sweet ass I have something else in mind." I'm grateful to him for keeping the mood light, not allowing the melancholy to settle in, and I want to continue the fun. "In fact, your sweet ass is _exactly _what I have in mind."

-o-

Monday morning is, as we planned, quiet. After fun with morning wood, and breakfast, Jacey does some laundry, getting ready for the coming week. He runs to the corner store to pick up a few things to take back to camp with him, snack foods they don't have there, that sort of thing. Since the store is only half a block away, he dashes out by himself; I sit on the front porch with a cup of coffee and a book, enjoying the morning and reflecting on how much Jacey loves it here. I already love Chicago, but I'm starting to think that my favorite city in the world would be any place I could be with Jacey all the time. To be able to see him every evening at home (_our _home), spend my weekends with him – not having to wait for his call or exchanging text messages. Being apart...well, it sucks.

Just after lunch we pack our luggage into the rental and start off towards the camp. We have a few hours still before I need to drop him off and head for the airport, but he wants to show me a bit of the countryside around Lake Travis. We take our time, meandering through beautiful neighborhoods and veering off the beaten path; the whole time, I hold Jacey's hand on the console between us. After following one road into a heavily-wooded area, it dead-ends.

I remark to Jacey, "Um...did we take a wrong turn?"

"No," he smiles, and unclasps his seatbelt.

"Are we getting out?"

"Pop the trunk?" he requests.

I do, and turn off the car. He opens the trunk and pulls a blanket out of his backpack. He tucks it under his arm, and holds out his free hand to me. Having locked the car, I take his hand and he leads me into the woods, along a narrow path.

We walk for about ten minutes, winding our way deeper into the deep jade of the heavy woods. The path really isn't even wide enough for us to walk side-by-side, and eventually Jacey releases my hand. He stops, peering into the undergrowth, and then says, "This way." I follow him about twenty feet off the path to the base of a large tree. On the ground flourishes a large patch of soft-looking moss. Here he spreads out the blanket; sitting, he beckons me to join him.

I do, and he presses me gently downward until I'm flat on my back. He straddles my hips, gently taking my face in his hands and smiling down at me. "I wanted you here," he says. "In the woods. I wanted to say goodbye you outside."

There's only one thing I need to know. "Is it safe to be here?" I ask.

"Yes," he replies. "This path isn't used by hikers much anymore, but if they did happen to pass by, they can't see us here. There's too much brush."

"Okay," I agree. "In that case...I'm all yours."

He presses a chaste kiss to my lips, then moves downward. He undoes my belt and the button on the casual shorts I'm wearing and pushes them down, along with my briefs. I lift my hips a bit to allow him to slide everything down to my knees. I'm glad he leaves them there, because if I have to pull them back on in a hurry, I'd like them to be readily accessible.

His hair falls down around his face, brushing my stomach and thighs when he lowers his face to my groin. His tongue massages me; his hands slide up and down my thighs. Here in the woods, looking up into the green canopy that stretches over us, it's like time has slowed down. Rather than spurring me on to the finish line, it feels like we're drifting along a lazy river. A light breeze brushes over my bare skin, tickling places that aren't normally exposed to gusts; around us, birds chirp and insects trill; and all the while, Jacey is licking, sucking, nibbling. I keep my vocal response to murmurs and hums, just enough that he knows how much I'm enjoying his loving care.

Eventually it occurs to me that there's no reason I can't reciprocate. I whisper my idea to him and he quickly agrees, dropping his own shorts and briefs to his ankles and kneeling at my head. His cock over my mouth, he returns to his former occupation, and I take him between my lips. I know this is the last time we'll be together like this for five long weeks. Every lick and caress and kiss I place upon him, I want them to count; I want him to think of them, think of _me_ in the weeks to come, to get us through the separation. We go slow, careful and deliberate, inhaling and absorbing as much of the other as we can.

I know he doesn't have a condom with him, and neither do I; but I want to look at him when I come. I release him from my mouth and shift my hips enough that he pulls away. "What's wrong?" he asks.

"Lie on your back," I request.

"Jack, I didn't bring a condom..."

"I know. I want to do something else."

He complies, rolling onto his back. Hovering over him, I press the length of my cock against his and slowly thrust upwards towards his chest, dragging my hardness against his. He gasps, arching, and grabs my hips. "Uhh, that's good," he whispers.

I only nod, enjoying the sensation as I reverse my motion, pulling downwards; it provokes the same reaction from him. "Oh, god, Jackie." I frot against him again, going slowly since all we have for lubrication is saliva. He writhes beneath me every time I move up or back, and my own growing desire makes it more difficult to thrust smoothly. I reach between us, grasping our cocks together in my hand and starting to jerk us off together. After only a couple of strokes, Jacey arches against me and moans my name, coming all over my hand and his stomach. I watch his beautiful face as he rides out wave after wave of pleasure, and suddenly my own release takes me. Caught between my palm and his softening length, my cock pulses, my jizz joining his to decorate the soft hair on his stomach.

When I've come down from my release, I collapse onto him, snuggling my face into his neck. "Thanks, Jackie," he whispers. "That was amazing."

"You too," I murmur. "I'm going to miss you so much."

In reply, he pulls me tighter to his chest. "I love you," he tells me, and I respond in kind. He pulls some facial tissue out of the pocket of his shorts for us to clean up with – for this much, at least, he was prepared – and then for about half an hour we lie together on the blanket. Each of us on our sides with an arm under our heads, we lie facing each other. Sometimes one of us asks a question; but for the most part we simply look_. _

Finally Jacey checks his watch. "Shit," he mutters. "It's time to go, unfortunately," he tells me. I acquiesce and push myself up off the blanket. He folds it up and starts toward the trail when I catch his arm.

"This is probably the most private place we'll have to really say goodbye," I tell him. His eyes widen for a moment, but the subsequent slump of his shoulders tells me that he knows I'm right. He nods and returns to where I'm standing, tossing the blanket on the forest floor.

He steps into my arms, burying his face in my chest and gripping me in a fierce hug, which I return. "I love you," I whisper hoarsely. "I won't stop thinking about you for a moment. Five weeks – that's all it'll be." I feel him nod against my chest. "Not even five – more like four and a half now. July 2nd, we have a date at SeaTac. I'll be waiting for you." Again he nods, then pulls his face back enough to look up at me. His eyes are swimming in tears that haven't spilled over.

"I love you, Jack," he returns, his voice breaking. "So much." He presses his lips to mine repeatedly in kisses that are both chaste and desperate. "I don't know what I'll do..."

"You'll be strong," I tell him. "You _are_ strong. It'll be fine."

He nods and kisses me again, then wriggles out of my arms. "Okay," he says, his eyes bright as he tries to smile through the tears. "Let's go." He picks up the discarded blanket, reaches out his hand to me and together we make our way back out of the deep woods.

-o-

The drive to the camp is quiet, aside from Jacey giving me directions on how to get there; though he keeps his fingers laced with mine whenever I don't need both hands for driving. From the highway, there's quite a long driveway through the woods, about a mile, and then the dirt road opens up into a parking lot. It looks just like every other summer camp in the country – cabins dotting an area to one side, washroom facilities, a large common building that almost certainly houses the kitchen and dining hall, larger buildings where the classes are held; and beyond, the beach and the lake, and a large fire pit with benches around it. Beside the fire pit, wood and kindling are already stacked; and I recall Jacey telling me that the staff usually have their own campfire the night everyone returns from a weekend. Tall trees are scattered across the grounds, and several young people in shorts and t-shirts are engaged in various activities – Frisbee, throwing a football, and other sports. For what it is, it appears to be a well-kept and welcoming place.

I choose a parking space as close to the cabins as I possible, since Jacey will have to carry his stuff to his cabin. We both get out of the car and meet at the rear of the car, where he pulls his backpack and guitar case out of the trunk.

"Okay," I say, trying to smile. "This is it. Have a great week."

"You have a safe flight, Jackie," he says, worry creasing his forehead. "You remember how to get back to the airport, right?"

"Shh, I'll be fine," I soothe.

He nods. "Of course you will."

We gaze at each other for a moment before, impetuously, I pull him into an hug. "I love you, sweet boy," I whisper.

"I love you." He lets me hold him for a few seconds and then pulls back. "Okay. Go."

"Okay," I agree. I step back to the driver's door and open it, grinning at him over the top of the car. "Bye."

He only nods, his mouth clamped tight. I start the car, back out of the space and pull away, watching him in the rearview mirror. He stands and watches as I drive slowly toward the mouth of the parking lot. Close to the entrance, I notice a tall, blond boy, probably in his early to mid-twenties, standing on his own near where the grass meets the gravel. He watches me intently as I pass. In my rearview I see him watching the vehicle for a moment, then turn to head back toward the buildings, just before the camp is obscured from my sight by the trees.

-o-

The rest of my day is spent in travel – travel to the airport, travel on the plane, travel back to my apartment. Though I miss Jacey, I don't feel as bereft as I did when he left in March. I love him & he loves me. We're _in love. _ The knowledge gives me peace; and when I climb into my own bed, even though I'm alone, I feel snugly wrapped in a blanket of hope. The sweet memories I made with Jacey this weekend replay in my brain, carrying me into warm, restful slumber.

-o-

**A couple of songs helped set the tone for this chapter – one is Can't Get You Off My Mind by Lenny Kravitz, and the other is Hello, I'm In Delaware by City and Colour. My DD playlist is embedded in the sidebar on my blog. **

**I want to say thanks to everyone who has expressed their support and love in PMs, emails, tweets and reviews; and not just in regard to DD. My newfound love for Spock/Kirk fiction love has seen a group of Twitter friends drinking the Kool-Aid along with me, and that's been FUN. :) I'm grateful for you all.  
**


	20. Chapter 20

**Chapters 20, 21 and 22 are being posted together. The "next" button likely won't be available at the bottom of the page if you're hitting this immediately after it's been posted, but follow the link in your email – it'll be there. **

**No more author's notes until the end of Chapter 22. Meet you there. **

-o-

_Jack_

It's been a long time since I lived in a city with a sunny summer. Chicago in early June is beautiful. It's sunny most of the time, but it hasn't yet become

insufferably hot. When there's a breeze from Lake Michigan, the temperature is my idea of perfect. I know we're probably headed for some sultry weather once we get into the real summer months, but for now I take full advantage, and I spend more time outside than I have since before I started working summers during college.

I start out by going to the gym a lot, but in chatting with the gym manager one night, I find out there's a group of guys from my neighborhood who play basketball three nights a week, at a park only a couple of blocks away. He invites me to join them. I do, bringing Mike with me, and we quickly fall in with the other guys. Most of them are in their late twenties and early thirties; and there is an easy camaraderie among them that makes me feel like I'm playing pickup with my brothers.

As for Mike, he keeps his mouth shut about his hookup in Austin. Not that he's overly forthcoming with those details anyway; we never really discuss our liaisons in detail, unless something particularly noteworthy happens. I'm intrigued about the circumstances around the way he met the boy in Austin, but I barely manage to pry a couple of details out of him.

"It looked like you already knew each other." When he doesn't answer I add, "Or was it one of those, 'We saw each other across a crowded...uh, sidewalk?'"

He smiles faintly. "Sort of a combination of the two. I don't really..." He hesitates, and I understand that he doesn't want to talk about it. I have no idea why - maybe it just didn't work out; but for whatever reason, he wants me to leave it alone.

I will, but I need to ask one more question before I drop it. "Hey. Are you okay? I mean...he didn't hurt you or something...did he?"

He looks up at me from where his gaze has been fixed upon my living room coffee table. He looks surprised but his expression shows no trace of pain or anger. "No," he assures me confidently. "Definitely not. It was fine. Really." He smiles, reinforcing the sentiment, and I'm relieved at his answer.

"Okay. Good." I return the smile, adding, "You know I'm always here, if you do want to talk. About anything."

"I know." He ruffles my hair affectionately. "Thanks, Jack."

As I talk to my friends and my family in the weeks after Austin, I tell them of my declaration to Jacey and how much he means to me. I am met with unqualified happiness from each of them. My mom becomes emotional, and I know it's not only because she's happy for me, but also because she wishes my dad were here to see me happy and in love. I wish he was, too.

Jasper's reaction is the most emphatic, as he pronounces a loud, "HA!", then starts mocking what I said during our conversation in March. "'Oh, don't get ahead of yourself,' he says, 'it's only the third time I've seen him.' I _knew_ it, Jack! You've found the guy. Finally, the one for _you._" I can only laugh with him and feel gratitude for the warmth and joy my loved ones convey at hearing that Jacey and I are for real. Everyone expresses how much they can't wait to meet him. I can't wait to show him off to them all.

During those weeks I keep my words to Jacey, not seeking out a trick or even considering it. He may not have believed, when I was in Austin, that what I said about not wanting anyone else was true; or perhaps he just didn't believe that it would be enough to keep me from sleeping with other guys. He won't be able to argue with five weeks of celibacy when I tell him, fourth of July weekend, that I haven't been with anyone since we were together in Austin. I hope it'll be enough to gain some of his trust, at least – I know five weeks isn't all that long in the big picture, but maybe it'll be enough that he'll agree to become exclusive. I certainly plan to ask him again, in Seattle, not to see anyone else.

Jacey and I manage to talk almost every night for the first week after my trip to Austin, but as of the first Monday in June, the campers arrive, and our contact goes down to nearly nothing. I email him daily, and he does respond to almost every one; but often it's just with a few sentences – an acknowledgement of my email and a detail or two about his day, and his closing.

_Love you,_

_Jacey_

The beginning of the second week of June brings another change in our communication. On Monday night, my email goes unanswered; nor does he reply the rest of the weeknights. There's no point in texting because he doesn't carry his cell phone on him during the day;he would get it at night, which is when he checks his email anyway. I know the coming Friday brings his weekend off after the first ten-day cycle of campers has ended, and I tell the guys I play basketball with that I won't be there that night, as I expect Jacey will call me. I'm anticipating a marathon conversation to make up for all we've missed in the last ten days.

Friday afternoon, I'm so anxious to talk to him I can barely concentrate at work. I manage to calm myself down enough not to do any major damage to anyone's stock portfolio, but by the time five o'clock comes I can't wait to get out of there.

When I get off the L I remove my suit jacket and tie, slinging them over my arm. The weather this week has been beautiful and sunny, and today is no exception. I roll my shirtsleeves up to my elbow and unbutton my top button for the walk from the train station.

Oddly, now that I'm finished work, I'm not feeling anxious anymore. I'm still excited to talk to my love, but I actually take my time on the way home, stopping off at Jamba Juice for a smoothie and picking up dinner from the Diner. I know Jacey isn't likely to call before seven, so I'm not in a huge rush to get home and wait.

As I walk down my street from the diner, my takeout bag in one hand, a mango smoothie in the other, I feel just about perfectly happy. I'm looking forward to a weekend off; I feel mellow and relaxed. The only impediment to my perfect happiness is missing Jacey; but in two weeks I'll have my love in my arms again, and I'll introduce him to some of the most special people in my life.

I approach my building and round the concrete railing that flanks the wide front steps, nearly tripping over someone who, though invisible behind the railing as I approached, is sitting on the steps. I excuse myself and start to step around them when the person looks up at me. Somehow I have enough presence of mind not to drop every single thing I'm carrying, though I'm not entire sure how I manage it, so great is my surprise.

"Jacey?"

_Jacey_

This started out as such a promising summer.

I got a job doing what I love to do, at a place I love to work. I finished my sophomore year with a 4.0 GPA. I was in love – even though I hadn't told him yet, I knew – with a brilliant, sexy beautiful man. In short, life was good. It wasn't great that Jack was so far way, but since I wasn't willing to give him up there wasn't a great deal I could do to change it. With that one exception, I began the summer feeling happy, optimistic and excited.

My first day at Texartopia, when I found out I'd have the same cabin I had the year before, the summer's promise got even better. As I told Jack, I loved working with the newest campers, the ones who were experiencing art camp for the first time. I loved the moment when they realized this was the place they fit, and even in ten short days, most blossomed in the environment. Since their first year set would the tone for how they'd feel about the possibility of returning, I wanted to make the best I could.

I also found out my first day that some of the staff I worked with last year wouldn't be returning, for one reason or another – graduation, other jobs – and so there were five new staff members to meet, two administration staff and three counselors. Introducing myself to them all should have been simple enough.

It was...until I got to Matt.

Matt was a counselor for the second-year campers. Matt was going to celebrate his 23rd birthday in July. Matt was pursuing a Teacher Certification in Theatre Arts from Texas A&M. Matt was going into his senior year. Matt was tall and blonde and – even with a shirt on I could tell – he had a perfectly defined chest and abs.

These things I found out and observed during my first conversation with him. I chatted with him about how some of his campers would almost certainly be kids I'd had last year. His response – that if he had any problems, at least he'd have an excuse to talk to me – made me blush furiously. He was very confident, but not cocky. When he spoke to a group, he could broadcast his voice to carry so everyone could hear it, but when he spoke just to me, he was soft-spoken and sweet. He was athletic, having held a place on the Aggies' track and field team in his sophomore year; but he was also talented in theatre and had the lead role in the theatre department's production this past year.

I was crushing hard on him, without a doubt; but I was committed to Jack. I knew I could enjoy the view, even enjoy his flirting without any complications.

That was the intention, at least.

The first week was entirely innocent – he would stop by the visual arts classroom where I was decorating the room and preparing curriculum. He'd ask me about life at UT Austin and tease me about the rivalry between our mutual colleges. Once in a while he would pay a veiled compliment. Nothing cheesy like a pickup line; just a thoughtful comment on my work, or a lingering look that would have me blushing.

The Sunday night after Mother's Day, when the staff gathered for our first Sunday night bonfire, I sat playing my guitar, along with a few others who had guitars and bongo drums. Matt joined the group after everyone else, spreading a blanket on the grass beside where I played and stretching out beside me. When I put the guitar aside he asked about my weekend, grimacing with me as I described the hellish trip from Austin to Kingsland for Mother's Day.

When the bonfire had burned down to embers and staff began to drift back to their cabins, Matt said, "Well, I'm beat. Walk you back to your cabin?" I nodded, grinning. In silence we made our way across the expanse of lawn; here and there, small pools of light were cast by the waist-height post lamps scattered over the lawns. Far from last night's monsoon, tonight was clear, a million stars twinkling in the black velvet sky. It was beautiful and peaceful.

We reached my cabin, where I'd left the porch light on, and there we stood for a moment, eyeing each other, before Matt said simply, "Sleep well, Jacey."

"You too," I murmured, and he turned and disappeared into the night.

The week that followed was fine – normal, mostly, except for the times once or twice a day when I would look up from something I was doing to find Matt's gaze upon me, or when someone would mention to me that Matt had asked them something about me. I was flattered, as much as I tried to deny it to myself.

That Friday night, I went home and waited for Jack to call me. When he did, I verbally pounced on him, telling him what I wished I could do to him...what I _would_ do when we were together next. It was so intense, and I was desperate for penetration. I finger-fucked myself and made no secret of it to Jack, who found it incredibly hot. That night on the phone with him was a grounding experience, and I felt like I refocused on what was important, what was real in my life – my Jackie.

Though I was supposed to call him the next night, I ended up going out with my housemate Neil and a few of our friends – the ones who were still in town for the summer. I had more to drink than I'd had before - which isn't really saying much considering I'd only had my first drink a few weeks prior - but I found out that night that I'm something of a lightweight where liquor's involved. It didn't take more than a few drinks to have me feeling relaxed and free. It was great to blow off steam, dancing and laughing with my friends. By the end of the night I was simply sitting in the booth, leaning against Neil as he leaned against me, giggling, watching our friends try to pick up girls. Our group stayed to close the clubs that night; and then we stopped at an all-night diner. The employees there were patient – well, long-suffering, really – given that we were all in varying stages of tipsiness. We made for a noisy group, but the diner's close proximity to the clubs and their twenty-four hour schedule meant they must have dealt with guys like us on a regular basis.

Just as we were paying for our meals, someone said my name. I looked up and a few feet away was Matt, flashing me a huge smile. He had just arrived with a group of _his_ friends. I put my cash on the table and got up to greet him. "Hey," he said, pulling me away from the two noisy groups of people. "I'm so glad to see you here." I smiled, agreeing that it was a nice surprise. We chatted for a few minutes, and then he asked if he could see me home.

I was about to politely decline when Neil – who'd had more to drink than any of us – ambled up to me and threw his arm over my shoulders. "Wow," he announced loudly. "The guys who spent the whole night trying to pick up chicks are gonna be pissed when they find out the only one getting hit on is the one who already has a boyfriend." He released me and made his way unsteadily back towards our friends, blissfully unaware the impact his words had.

Matt, who'd been holding my elbow as he spoke to me, dropped it. He looked at me with an unreadable expression. "You have a boyfriend," he said, his voice quietly flat.

"I'm seeing someone," I corrected carefully.

His gaze dropped to the floor. "I'm sorry for bothering you," he said, stepping back away from me. "It won't happen again. See you at work." Still looking at the floor, he turned and headed back to his friends, where they had secured a table. My friends joined me then, and though I tried to catch his eye before we left, he didn't look my way again.

That Sunday I slept a long time, and was still tired when I awoke. More than that, I felt confused and out of sorts. I felt bad that Matt was embarrassed – there was certainly no reason for him to, since he hadn't done anything inappropriate. He seemed so disappointed, and that made me feel guilty, though I didn't think I'd done anything to encourage him. Talking to Jack didn't seem to make me feel that much better. Somehow it even added to my guilt, though again, I didn't believe I'd done anything to feel guilty about.

When I got back to camp later in the afternoon, Matt was nowhere to be seen. It wasn't until the bonfire was already well underway that he joined the group. Though there was a spot beside me, he chose to sit a third of the way around the circle from me; and the entire time, he simply stared into the flames as they danced in the fire pit. Again, he didn't make eye contact or speak to me at all, and when we decided on the last song of the night, he got up and left before the song was over.

When I finished playing, I went back to my cabin. I sat for long moments on my bed, trying to decide whether I should go talk to him or not. I didn't want him to feel uncomfortable around me, and I didn't want him to have hurt feelings. I decided the only way I was going to be able to express that to him was if I told him directly. In my bare feet, I padded across the dew-damp grass to the door of his cabin. The porch light wasn't on but there was a glow from inside the building. I knocked softly at the door and heard the footsteps cross the wood floor toward me.

He opened it, his expression tightening at seeing me there. "Jacey," he said quietly, knowing our voices would carry easily in the still night air.

"Can we talk?" I asked. He looked away for a moment, considering it, and then wordlessly, nodded his head and stepped back, opening the door.

When I was inside, the door closed behind me, I began. "I wanted to say that I'm sorry my roommate was so blunt last night...or, this morning, I guess. He spoke out of turn."

"But you _are_ seeing someone," he clarified.

"I am," I confirmed. "I mean, it's not really that cut-and-dried – it's long distance and we have...an understanding. We're not exclusive. But that's not really what I came here to say. Last night you said you were sorry for bothering me; and I just wanted to tell you: you didn't bother me. There was nothing in what you did that was inappropriate or unwelcome. I've been worrying all day today that you were upset, and I just don't want you to be." I took a deep breath to steady my nerves and rein in my babbling.

Matt, who'd been watching me curiously during my little speech, repeated, "You're not exclusive?"

"No," I replied. "I mean...he's very special to me. If he didn't live twelve hundred miles away, I think we would be exclusive, if he wanted that. But it is what it is, and...well, this is it."

"And, just to be sure," he continued, "there was nothing I did that was unwelcome?"

"No," I smiled, glad I could reassure him. "Not at all."

"What if I did this?" He stepped close to where I leaned against the door, and taking my face gently in both his hands, he leaned down and kissed me softly on the lips. "Was that unwelcome?" he asked, in the barest of whispers, after his lips pulled away. He rested his forehead against mine and waited for my reply.

My head was spinning and my heart was pounding in my ears. I didn't know what to say. _Wrong, wrong, wrong!_ my conscience screamed. "I...I..." I stuttered, sliding away from him. He released me and stepped back a bit, watching as I tried to figure out what to do. Finally I lamely gasped, "I have to go." My hand found the doorknob behind me and I opened it, stepping out into the dark night before he could reply. I fled to my cabin and when I stretched out on my bed that night, it took a long time for sleep to find me.

The next day I was the one who was feeling awkward and uncomfortable, and rather than eat with my coworkers in the dining hall, I took advantage of the little toaster oven I had in my cabin and ate breakfast there. About an hour into my workday, I was alone in the visual arts studio when I heard the front door squeak as it opened. I turn to find Matt there, holding something wrapped in a paper napkin.

"Hey," he said softly.

I turned back to my work, trying to seem calm when I replied. "Hi."

"Missed you at breakfast," he said.

"I ate in my cabin."

"Ah, I didn't know that," he continued, "so I brought you something." He crossed the room to where I stood and deposited the parcel on my desk. I unwrapped the napkin to find one of the sticky buns I almost always had with breakfast. "Those seem to be one of your favorites," he commented.

I picked it up, tearing off a piece of the sweet roll and stuffing it into my mouth before I nodded. I held it out to him. "Want a piece?"

He pulled off a piece as well. His eyes never left mine as he chewed the roll and then sucked the sticky icing from his fingertips; I felt powerless to look away as each fingertip disappeared inside his mouth. "Sweet," he finally murmured when he was clean; I could only nod dumbly. "Not the sweetest thing I've tasted in the last twelve hours, though." Without another word between us he turned and left the studio, leaving me gaping and more confused than I was before.

The next day brought little flirtations throughout the day, and he kissed me again, after walking me to my cabin door at bedtime. The day after that, Wednesday, found us ending the day with deeper kisses, more passionate; and that turned into a hot, heavy make-out session in my bed. I became less certain of _everything. _ I still thought about Jack all the time; but when I was with Matt I found him so difficult to resist. After he left my cabin that Wednesday night, I put my foot down, giving myself a stern talking-to. I knew this was outside the bounds of the agreement; I knew Jack almost certainly was not carrying on similar liaisons where he could get emotionally involved. I knew his emotions were reserved for me.

The next day I asked Matt to go for a walk with me down to the dock, and there, as we sat side-by-side with our feet and legs dangling in the water, I told him it had to stop. I told him again that Jack was special to me. He listened without interrupting as I told him everything my relationship with Jack meant to me. Finally, he asked a simple question. "Why didn't you go work in Chicago for the summer?" I didn't answer, not having expected this question and not sure how to explain it in such a way that would support my case without lying outright.

In the end I could only be honest. "I mentioned it," I replied.

"Did he turn you down?" he pushed.

"Not exactly," I hedged. "But...sort of."

He shook his head. "Clear as mud."

"My mom is the only family I have; he thought I wouldn't want to be too far away from her for the summer." Saying it out loud, it was seriously the lamest excuse I'd ever heard – even _I_ doubted the validity of the excuse, when I heard myself say it. "I do think he wanted me there, though..."

Matt said nothing, to his credit; didn't denigrate Jack or our relationship, though if he was looking for an opening to try to shake my faith in Jack, that would have been an excellent opening. I could see it and I knew he certainly did too.

There was a long silence as we sat looking out over the lake, watching the sun throw a million sparkles off the water. "Okay," he finally replied.

"Okay?"

"You have to do what's right for you," he replies. "If this – he – is right for you, then I'm saying okay. You and I won't become...whatever we were headed for."

I nodded, feeling the sting even as I knew I was getting exactly what I asked him for.

The next day after I went home, I was feeling very listless and depressed. Neil, seeing this, told me he was getting me out of the house. His girlfriend Samantha joining us this time, we went out to a club. While we were there, Jack called me. I was unable to talk to him, not only because of the noise - I could have walked outside the club easy enough - but because I was afraid he'd know, somehow, what I'd done; that he'd be able to hear it in my voice. After I hung up with him, Neil bought me a couple of drinks, hoping it would help me feel better about whatever was upsetting me. Two drinks became four, and when we left the club and went to a party at Sam's friend's house, I had a couple more there.

The drinking added up to me having no self-control when, at one point during the party, I looked up to find Matt staring at me from across the living room. I didn't know how he got there or whether this was just another random meeting; but it didn't matter. He started moving toward me and I toward him, and we met somewhere near the middle; he pulled me into his arms and immediately our lips were pressing against each other. I barely had time to find Neil and tell him I was leaving, before Matt was pulling me out the door.

As it turned out, Matt wasn't drinking that night and his vehicle was parked just down the street. Before long we were at my house, in my room...undressing, baring ourselves to each other for the first time...kissing, our lips joining and parting repeatedly...feeling, smooth skin and soft hair...and then it was just happening. There in my bed, Matt made love to me, for hours; we didn't stop until we were completely exhausted and simply unable to go on. By the time we went to sleep the sun was just visible over the horizon.

The next morning...well, we slept through the morning. Matt did get up once, bringing me back a large glass of water and some Advil; after I took it he pulled me into his arms and we went back to sleep for several hours, finally getting up at around 3:30 pm. We decided we'd go out to get something to eat, and though Matt suggested we shower together, I told him to go ahead.

I needed to call Jack.

In the light of day, with the alcohol gone from my system and my faculties restored, I was feeling mighty guilty about what had happened last night. Again I berated myself, knowing this was not just a hook-up; knowing Matt had feelings for me. Hell, I had feelings for him, too. Stretched out on my bed, still naked, I called Jack and when he teased me about having a hangover, I grimaced; he didn't know how much of a hangover I really had.

I realized how much I couldn't wait for him to come to Austin, how much I needed him in my arms again, needed to be with him, to get my head on straight again. "I'm really glad you're coming, Jack. I think we need this. You know?"

"Need what, Jacey?" he asked.

I heard the shower turn off and lowered my voice so Matt wouldn't hear me. "We need to be together. I do, at least. I need...I need you."

"Yeah," he replied. "I need you, too."

In the hall outside the bathroom, I heard Matt talking to Neil, asking if they wanted to join us when we went out to eat. I told Jack, "So, I'm just about to go out and get some...well, maybe breakfast isn't the right word, but that's more or less what it is."

I heard Jack laugh. "Maybe a good feed of grease will help with your hangover."

I could only grit my teeth. "Maybe."

"So I guess...will we talk again this weekend, or...?" He sounded unsure, and my heart cracked a little, realizing how I'd brushed him off.

I promised to call him Sunday night when I got back to camp, and we said goodbye just as Matt came into my room. He was shirtless, droplets of water still clinging to his chest in a couple of places, his shaggy blonde hair still in a million directions from where he had towelled it off. He looked so sexy; and then he opened his mouth. "Jesus, you look gorgeous lying there all naked and cute. I'd rather eat you than breakfast." He grinned, a megawatt smile that gave me butterflies in my stomach, and I knew.

I was royally fucked.


	21. Chapter 21

_Jack_

I blink several times at Jacey sitting there on the steps of my building before he rises to stand with me. "Jackie," he says, a faint smile gracing his beautiful face.

"Jacey!" I repeat, still stunned. "I...how did you...what are you doing here?" He reaches out and takes some of the things I'm carrying, freeing up one of my arms. I use it to wrap around his waist and pull him close to me for a kiss.

His lips against mine are soft and warm, and as delicious as I've always known them to be. His free arm comes up over my shoulders, wrapping around my neck. "Jackie," he murmurs when I release his lips. He rests his head on my shoulder, his face against my neck.

"I can't believe you're here," I tell him. "This is...this is the best surprise I've ever had."

He leans back and gives me that same faint smile. "Shall we go inside?"

"God, yes," I agree. I sprint up the steps and have the door unlocked before Jacey reaches me; I hold it open long enough for him to enter the building, then I'm up the next set of stairs to my apartment door. Again, I hold the door open until Jacey is through, and once I've got my shoes off, my mouth kicks into overdrive.

"I was thinking all day about you - well, I never stop thinking about you, of course - but this week especially because you've been so busy you haven't been able to email me. Shit, I didn't get enough for dinner for two! We can share mine if you like?" I look at him and he holds his hand up with a shake of his head, indicating that I should go ahead. "I could hardly concentrate at work today because I knew you'd call me tonight when you got back to the city; but look at you! You're here in my apartment!" I dash over to where he stands leaning against my dining room table to give him a quick kiss, before returning to the kitchen to grab my plate of takeout food. "You're sure you don't want anything? I mean, veggie spring rolls...!"

On and on I chatter, and Jacey sits with me at the table, listening patiently as I talk my way through dinner. I've barely talked to him in 3 weeks - I have so much to tell him. I strong-arm him into taking one of my spring rolls, and he plays with it on his plate. Finally, when dinner is over and I've run out of things I can say in an entirely one-sided conversation, I get up and hold my hand out to him. He takes it and I lead us to the couch. When we sit and he doesn't move to snuggle in my arms, I take a really close look at him for the first time. He has dark circles under his eyes that even his beautifully tanned skin can't cover, and he is uncharacteristically quiet, even considering how gentle and unobtrusive his presence normally is. For the first time it occurs to me that his visit might not just be a happy surprise, but that something may be wrong with him. "Jacey, you've barely said a word since you got here, and you look completely worn out. What's wrong?"

He moves closer to me then, resting his head on my shoulder. With his head tucked under my jaw I can't see his face anymore, but I hear him when he murmurs, "I love you so much, Jack."

"I love you too...I'm sorry, I should have said it when you got here, but I was just so surprised..."

I feel him shake his head slightly. "No, it's...don't worry about it."

We sit in silence for a few moments. I hold him, taking the time to renew my acquaintance with all the lovely things that accompany his presence: his sexy, warm scent; his long soft hair that's brushing his shoulders; the feel of his body pressing into mine. As I catalogue all these things I wait for him to tell me what's wrong, trusting that he will open up to me when he's ready. I'm so grateful he's here that I'm willing to give him all the time in the world.

_Jacey_

The week after Matt and I slept together was perhaps one of the worst of my life. On one hand, I was completely attracted to him and whenever I thought of him I got a flutter of excitement in the pit of my stomach; on the other hand, that flutter would invariably be followed by a little wave of nausea as I thought about what I was doing to Jack.

We didn't sleep together again, not while we were there at the camp; even in our off hours, we agreed it would be a bad idea. We did steal kisses here and there; he would bring me a sticky bun every day at ten-thirty and we'd share it before he went back to the theatre arts building. We swam together; and when someone declared a chicken fight, he swam between my legs and stood, lifting me up onto his shoulders. It was no secret among staff that we were "a thing", even though we didn't acknowledge it outright.

Thursday night, I told Matt that Jack would be on his way into Austin for the long weekend. He didn't say much in reply, just nodded before kissing me, and then said, "Guess I'll see you Monday night when you get back." He jumped down from the porch railing where we'd been sitting and strode off in the direction of his cabin. I didn't see him the rest of the evening; and he didn't bring a sticky bun the next morning. We were off at noon; and I did see him putting his stuff into his car. He caught my eye just before he got in, and gazed at me for a long moment before getting in and driving away.

-o-

The weekend I had with Jack was amazing. I had such moments of clarity, over and over, in his arms and at his side. When I rushed into his arms at the airport and took in the feel of his body, his scent I knew so well, and the sheer joy of being in his presence again, I thought, _This is it. This is real – this is what I've waited for._ Hearing him tell me for the first time that he loved me was one of the best moments of my life. I was so surprised to hear it, so moved, that I teared up. "Jackie, I love you. Of course I do..." I croaked in return; because _of course_ I loved him. I had known it since my trip to Chicago in March. It was so undeniably real, I could feel it with every fiber of my being. We kissed again and again, until I was too exhausted to go on; we fell asleep there, as close as we could physically be.

Yet in my sleep, my conscience made my life hell, throwing Jack and Matt's faces before me all night long. I woke up in Jack's arms, but I didn't feel as though I'd rested well. He even commented on it, saying I'd been restless in my sleep. I used a white lie, telling him I couldn't remember and that I felt fine. I went down on him then, and the subject was not revisited.

That day, Saturday, was great. The weather was perfect – low humidity, by Texas standards at least; Mike later told me different – and we went window shopping in the morning, canoeing in the afternoon; and then when we'd returned to my house, Jack turned me into a human baklava buffet. When he tied my hands with the long silk scarf and fucked me with a dildo, I felt stripped bare and completely possessed by him. I'd never done anything like that before and it was amazing. I felt completely boneless after I came; he was the one to clean me up, straighten the bed, and tuck me in, and it was then that I felt a twinge of guilt. I knew how deeply he felt; I knew he deserved to be loved completely, not to be with someone whose affections had become divided...and yet I could not bring myself to give him up.

Jack's questions that night, over dinner and before we went out, about the other gay counselors at the camp put me on the defensive. I could tell he was feeling a little insecure about it, and I should have been able to just calm his fears...if only there was no validity to them. With my guilty conscience, it felt like the Spanish Inquisition. I snapped at him, hurting his feelings and making an already uncomfortable situation even worse. Even though I apologized, I could tell he was very hurt. When we got to Charlie's and he pulled Mike close for a long hug, I heard Mike ask if he was okay. I felt simply awful. I knew we'd have to discuss it, and a face-to-face discussion would be far preferable to something over the phone; I promised him we'd talk about it the next day.

Throughout the evening that followed, I tried my best to make it up to him, relaxing and enjoying the night. I chatted with Mike, whom I found I really did like. It was clear that he and Jack had become very good friends. That fact alone made me grateful, as it was reassuring to know that Jack had a good friend in Chicago. I enjoyed reliving with Jack the night we met; it reminded me of how much simpler things were then, when I was naïve and inexperienced and simply wanted to dance near the most beautiful man I'd ever seen close up. Remembering how Jack took me to his hotel that night and then came back to find me again the next night was another moment of clarity for me – something along the lines of _meant to be_.

After we went to the Oilcan and Mike disappeared with his mystery man, Jack was all mine; and dancing with him, grinding against him, there at the club, was so fucking arousing – I was almost more turned on than I could stand. When we got home and he agreed to my request to top him, sinking inside him was heaven. He reminded me that he only did this for me, and god, I knew that already; knew I wouldn't top anyone else either. The closeness between us when we did it, was ours alone.

Of course, the conversation we had to have the next morning was...well, it was difficult. Even when Jack inferred that he wanted to commit to an exclusive relationship, I told him honestly that I didn't think it was right for us, not right now. Not enough had changed in our circumstances; or, not enough of the right things had changed. We were still too far apart, and he had all but turned down my offer to come to Chicago for the summer. I didn't want to set either of us up with unreasonable expectations, rules that would hurt us both if one of us couldn't live up to them. I didn't want anything to become a deal-breaker between us. I held hope that it would happen eventually, but didn't believe the time had come yet.

On the other hand, he had referred to himself as my boyfriend, and that had been a surprise as well. As we talked I expressed to him my frustration that we still weren't having real conversations, about the important things in life; and he acknowledged this. For my part I admitted my own fault in the lack of information exchange, and promised him I'd strive to improve. Almost immediately, Jack tested that promise by asking me about my coworkers – why I'd become so defensive, and whether I'd slept with someone there.

I nodded. "Yes."

"Oh."

"Yeah." From my experience finding out about him and Karl, I was all too familiar with the sting associated with the revelation. I started to apologize when he cut me off, telling me it was "fine".

"It's not fine," I told him. "Nothing that hurts you is _fine._ And I _am_ sorry you're hurt; I never wanted that to happen."

For one long, horrible minute, I was truly concerned that he might not agree to continue our agreement; I could sympathize with how he must have felt in March when I was considering _my_ decision on the matter. Finally he answered. "I told you in March that I don't want to lose you, Jacey." He reached out for my hand, adding, "You can add that to your list of things that haven't changed."

We promised each other that we would communicate, by whatever means we could, and tell each other when something needed to be said. In the back of my mind I had a nagging little voice whispering Matt's name to me as something I should be telling Jack about; but I silenced it, telling myself that I had already admitted to sleeping with a coworker, and that I could keep that relationship strictly casual. I _had_ to, because I loved Jack; and Jack loved me.

The afternoon – going to Laguna Gloria, walking the grounds and ending up at the Temple of Love – was about the most perfect afternoon of my life. The rain didn't even bother me; quite the opposite, it was such a welcome event after the drought that walking in it was a pleasure. The couple we met, Zach and Chris, put all kinds of ideas into my head about my own future with Jack; made me think how spectacular it would be to have a wedding ceremony here at dusk, with candles winking and blinking all around, lanterns hanging from the trees...and, most importantly, committing never to be apart from Jack again, for the rest of my life. My brain went into overdrive at the thought of it.

Before he took me back to camp the next day, I showed him some of the area to the northwest of the city, and lured him out into the woods for some outdoor loving. It didn't take much to reassure him that we were very unlikely to be discovered; and soon we were wrapped up in each other, our final lovemaking bittersweet because of our impending separation. When he pointed out that we were probably at the best place to say our real goodbyes, I felt myself slipping into despondency, even despite his promise that we'd see each other again July 2nd. During the car ride back to camp, I struggled to keep my emotions under control, and when Jack dropped me in the parking lot I had to keep it as quick as possible so I didn't lose it.

Watching him drive away, I realized Matt was standing near the entrance to the parking lot; far from me, but he'd have a close look at Jack when he drove past. When the rental car disappeared into the trees, Matt turned and looked at me. From so far away I couldn't make out his expression; but I didn't have the emotional strength to figure it out then. Like a coward, I hoisted my backpack over my shoulder and fled to my cabin. I didn't attend the bonfire that night, though people came to my door three times to make sure I knew it was on. I ate in my cabin and only emerged when I needed to use the washroom facilities. And if my eyes were suspiciously red-rimmed all evening, it was nobody's business why.

-o-

Jack made good on his promise to keep in touch, and we talked every night that week. He was so loving and sweet, entirely different from the reserved man so many people saw. I stayed in my cabin in the evening after supper, waiting for his calls and stretching them out as long as I could.

Wednesday night, my supervisor came to my cabin and asked me if I was okay; if whatever had happened between Matt and me was having a profound effect on me. I was stumped until I realized everyone thought Matt was my boyfriend; and that made me feel worse. I told Judith the truth: that my boyfriend was Jack, that what Matt and I had was only casual. She looked dubious; but patted my knee and told me she hoped I'd feel better soon.

At the door to my cabin she paused and turned to me as though there was something she wanted to say. Finally I encouraged her to go ahead and say what was on her mind. She said, "It's none of my business, of course; but...I don't think Matt thinks what you have is casual; not if the expression on his face this week is anything to go by." She gave me a sympathetic, motherly look before adding, "I know you're upset; but make sure you take his feelings into account too, Jacey."

She closed the door, leaving me gaping. I'd been so much inside my own head since Jack left, that I'd completely neglected to consider how Matt was feeling. I seemed to have a boundless capacity for hurting people. I got up from where I'd been reading on my bed, intent on going to talk to him immediately; but when I reached his cabin the light was already out. Rather than wake him, I decided it could wait.

The next morning, at precisely ten-thirty, I went to the theatre arts building with a sticky bun wrapped in a napkin envelope. I entered from the back of the auditorium. The house lights were down; Matt was on the stage alone, sitting at the desk working on some paper work. He was engrossed in his work and didn't hear me until I was just a few feet away from him. When he realized I was there, he rose to face me. His posture was mildly defensive, and his face...how could I not have seen it before? I supposed it was because I'd been avoiding eye contact with him. His face was drawn, almost haggard; he had dark circles under his eyes and looked as though he hadn't slept well in days.

"Matt," I whispered, reaching out to his face. He frowned, dropping his eyes away from me, and I pulled my hand back. "Matt, I'm so sorry."

His jaw tightened and he nodded, still looking away. "I brought a sticky bun; I thought we could share it." I watched him as he contemplated it; a muscle in his jaw flexed in and out while I waited for his answer.

Finally he conceded, "I could go for a sticky bun." He pulled a chair from the wings of the stage and brought it to the desk for me to sit at. I split the bun down the middle and we each took half, eating in silence.

When we had finished and wiped our hands clean – licking our fingers got us in too much trouble – I asked him quietly, "Are you okay?"

He shook his head tightly. "Are you?"

I sighed. "Honestly? No."

"For a different reason," he said.

"Pardon?"

He clarified, "The reason you're not okay is because of _him_, right? It's not because of me."

I wanted to tell him honestly that it was because of both of them. Yes, I missed Jack tremendously; but seeing Matt this week had been more difficult than I could have imagined. I avoided him because I didn't trust myself; I'd promised I would keep it casual but now I didn't know if I carry on a casual relationship with him.

I wanted to tell him I was falling for him.

I didn't; instead, I told him I missed Jack. I told him I was so sorry he'd been hurt; that it was never my intention to hurt him. And I told him that as lovely as it had been to be with him, I didn't think we should continue.

Those things were true. At least...I believed them at the time.

-o-

It was my last weekend before the campers arrived. It was Saturday night, and I was alone in the house. I sat on the front porch, listening and watching the thunderstorms that were moving through Austin. It had been terribly humid all week, and I hoped the storms would break the humidity for a few days. I had my sketchpad in my hand, a hurricane lamp flickering beside me, and a cup of tea. And I was fine. Doing quite fine, in fact.

Until, through the downpour, I saw someone running up the street towards my house. They didn't continue past - rather, they came through my front gate and leapt up the stairs to my front porch, immediately moving to kneel in front of me. In the faint flickering light of the candle that burned in the hurricane lamp, I saw with surprise that my visitor was Matt.

He was dripping wet, of course; and he was fortunate he hadn't been struck by lightning in the storm. I was wondering idly how far away he'd parked when he interrupted my thoughts by blurting, "I think you were lying to me."

It took me only a second to become indignant at his accusation. "What?" I said, starting up.

"And maybe you're lying to yourself, too," he continued as though I hadn't said a thing; he stood with me. "One way or the other, you're not doing either of us any favors. I think you _do_ have feelings for me. I think you do, and I think you're so freaked out by them that you're lying to me about them."

I sputtered in protest, but he wasn't having it. "All I want is the truth, Jacey," he said. "Please, just be honest with me and with yourself. If you can do that, and still tell me you don't want me, I'll walk away right now and I'll never bring it up again. But in case there's any doubt, I need you to know that I _have_ fallen for you; I want to be with you."

We stood facing each other, almost squaring off on the porch as the rain poured and the storm went on around us. For one very long moment I vacillated between my options...

...and the next moment I was in his arms, my hands in his dripping wet hair, our mouths everywhere. I had tried – fuck, I tried so hard – but I could not wage the war against my feelings. He stayed that night and we made love several times over the course of the night; we just couldn't get enough of each other. All the time I'd spent trying to deny how I felt – it was useless. The next night, our first night back at camp, we sat together at the bonfire. Matt sat against the old maple tree stump that was near the fire pit and I sat between his legs, leaning against his chest as I played my guitar. Matt would occasionally pull my long hair to one side and kiss my neck. I saw Judith looking curiously at us; I ignored her looks. I didn't want to explain to anyone. This belonged to _me_.

That night was the last night before the campers came back. Matt and I made a show of kissing goodnight at my door; but when our coworkers had all made their way to bed, Matt tiptoed across the grass to my cabin and we made love one last time. We knew we wouldn't be able to really be together again for a week and a half – neither of us would even consider something so foolish while the campers were in our care. Being with him in my narrow little bunk, being as silent as we could...it was somehow sweet, like being in your parents' home and hoping you didn't get caught.

The campers arrived the next day, and as I'd mentioned to Matt, some of my boys from the year before were in his cabin. I had an entirely new crop, of course; and I noticed that the packages of tissues I left on their pillows were put to good use by one or two of them. The first group was a really good group of kids. They seemed very young; but they were polite to me, and kind and inclusive with each other. They participated well in cabin activities and I had a couple of them in the visual arts building.

In the afternoons, my guys had swimming at 2 pm, and it was pure coincidence that Matt's group had the same hour. We had epic chicken fights between the first year kids and the second years; played water volleyball, and generally had a blast for that hour each day. Matt and I were careful in the presence of the kids, not to be more physically demonstrative than any of the other counsellors would be with each other; but every night after lights out, we both slipped out for no more than thirty seconds, meeting between our cabins for a quick goodnight kiss.

And every night, after kissing Matt goodnight, I'd log into my email to see that Jack had unfailingly sent me a message – a sweet, chatty, stream-of-consciousness accounting of his day, or something he wanted to show me when we went to Seattle. I would reply with a few sentences of my own, and always signed it with love...but in my heart, I was feeling farther from Jack than ever. I loved him, of that I had no doubt; but was it enough to defeat the challenges that seemed to be continually thrown in our path? I knew I was already breaking faith with him on what we'd promised to do – to talk to each other instead of letting issues fester unaddressed. I knew I could have taken that two hours I had off every other night and called Jack; I hadn't even told him I _had_ the time off. I knew he would have been thrilled to hear from me. And yet I didn't; I continued to pull away from dealing with the hard topics.

Counsellors had two hours off, every other evening from 9 pm to 11 pm; if it wasn't my night to be off, I covered my own cabin and the other cabin with first-year boys while Tyler, my counterpart from that cabin, had his break. On my night off, Tyler covered my boys. Matt and I weren't scheduled to have the same nights off, but he traded with Geoff, his counterpart; and it gave us those two hours together every two days, for us to do with as we wished. The first night we went for a swim and then joined our friends in the dining hall where they had a game of cards going. The next night we had off, he and I went to the theatre arts building by ourselves and stretched out on some of the stunt mats and just talked quietly.

When our two hours was nearly up, Matt pulled me up off the mats and caught me in his arms. He kissed me tenderly, and then he whispered, "I love you."

It should have been a perfect moment, the first time he told me he loved me. I felt a rush of pleasure, but it was tinged with bitter guilt and pain. I didn't know what to say to him.

"You don't have to say it back," he told me in an undertone. "I understand if you're not ready. But I am." He smiled and kissed me again; when I buried my face in his chest he wrapped his arms around my waist and held me close.

Over the next few days it became harder and harder to reply to Jack's daily emails. He was looking forward to my weekend off when he'd be able to talk to me for hours; Matt was looking forward to _our_ weekend off when we'd be able to spend our time together. And me? I was feeling as though I was being pulled from both sides; and a fault line was developing right down the middle of my heart. Monday night I didn't have it in me to reply to Jack. It was cowardly, and I knew it. I was definitely not displaying exemplary human being traits.

Tuesday was another night off, and that night when Matt and I made our way to the auditorium for a couple hours of quiet, I could tell something was on his mind. Several times he tried to speak, and each time he would walk away, across the stage, to collect his thoughts before returning. Finally, on the third attempt, he was successful.

"Jacey...I can see you've been struggling the last couple of weeks; and perhaps more so since Friday? Am I right?" He put his finger under my chin and tilted my head up so he could look in my eyes. I didn't reply, but he continued, "I think I'm right." He was; I was easy enough to read that he could see it. "Jacey, I love you; you know that. It's killing me to watch you try to be two different people, one person for me and a different one for him. I just want you to be _you_ – the sweet, talented, gorgeous Jacey I've come to know here over the last six weeks."

I hung my head and pressed my forehead into his chest. He bent to kiss the top of my head, and whispered in my ear, "I know you love him, Jacey. I have never said a word against him, because I knew it would hurt you; even when you told me his reason for why you shouldn't move to Chicago for the summer, I kept my mouth shut." I looked up at him, curious as to where he was going with this. "I'm not keeping my mouth shut anymore. I'm sure he's a good person – you wouldn't love someone who wasn't – but is he the _right_ person for you? Can it be right for you to be so torn all the time? To be so far away from the person you love?"

I felt tears well in my eyes at his gentle but firm words. He brushed away the ones that spilled over, and said, "I want you – only you, and all of you. I love you and I don't want to share. I'm here, Jacey - I'm where you are. So I'm asking you to be _my_ boyfriend. Choose me. Please." He kissed me softly.

I was stunned by his request; he was asking me to be exclusive with _him_. I didn't know what to say.

"Give me a couple of days," I murmured. "I just...I need to think."

"Of course," he replied gently. "I wouldn't ask you to make that kind of decision right away. If I was in his shoes, I would hope you'd give it careful consideration."

Again silent tears found their way down my cheeks as his words drove home the full meaning of his request. He wasn't only asking me to be his boyfriend – he was asking me to end things with Jack.

He took my hand and drew me to the thick mats, guiding me to lie down with him. He held me in his arms as my mind whirled, trying to comprehend all the possibilities. For nearly the rest of our two hours we lay together, not speaking. When we had about ten minutes left he kissed my forehead.

"We should head back soon," he murmured. I nodded into his chest and together we sat up. He stood first, pulling me up to join him, and turned to head to the exit.

"Wait," I said, tugging his hand to stop him. He looked curiously at me. "Two things. The first...if I said no...where would that leave you and I?" I was sure I already knew the answer, but I needed to hear it.

He looked away, and for the first time since I'd acknowledged my feelings for him, I saw his confidence falter. "I don't want to share you," he replied quietly. "I can't stay in this suspended animation where we're sort of together but you're not officially my boyfriend." He looked pleadingly at me. "I need to move on, Jacey; either with you or without you. I really hope you'll be with me."

I nodded; it confirmed what I already knew. "The second?" he asked, looking as though he wasn't sure he wanted to hear it.

"The second is...I love you," I whispered.


	22. Chapter 22

_Jack_

Jacey seems to make several attempts to talk, but each is aborted. I wish I could do something to ease his obviously-rattled nerves. I stroke his hair as I wait, but the unease that started when I really looked at him, starts to form into sharp, icy crystals in the pit of my stomach. He has never had this much trouble expressing himself to me.

Long moments go by in silence, so I am startled when he shifts, pulling out of my arms and moving to face me, straddling my lap. He takes my face in his hands and the look in his eyes is fierce and desperate.

"Jack," he whispers hoarsely, before attacking – there's no other word for it – my mouth with his. I respond willingly until he starts unbuttoning my dress shirt; then my hands close over his wrists.

"Sweet boy," I murmur, and he pulls back, cringing as though he's in pain. "Don't you want to tell me what's wrong first?" I suggest, and release one of his wrists to stroke his cheek.

"I need you," he rasps. "Please – I promise tomorrow we'll talk, but tonight...I need to be with you."

I waffle, carefully watching him. It seems wrong to make love to him when he is obviously in distress; but I trust that he knows what he needs. I respond accordingly, standing, letting him wrap his legs around my waist before I carry him to my bed.

The desperation in him suddenly evaporates, leaving a pliant but passionate Jacey. I undress him one garment at a time, removing my own clothing in tandem with his. Jacey is responsive to everything I do, but makes no move to initiate anything. He makes only one request – "Please take me, Jack" – and I'm all too happy to give him what he needs. Tonight he reminds me so much of the first time we were together, that night in Austin. He was the same then – unsure but so willing. Tonight, I don't know why he's reticent but I'll give him whatever he needs...forever, if he'll let me.

_Jacey_

When I admitted to Matt that I loved him, the tenderness and joy and relief that flooded his handsome face gave a tiny fragment of relief to my throbbing heart. It was painfully short-lived, and eclipsed by the heartbreak I knew Jack would feel if he knew I'd allowed another into my heart.

Matt kissed me, told me again he loved me, and then added, "Okay, now we really do need to get back." I nodded and allowed myself to be led back to the cabins. When we'd said good night and I was in bed, I finally allowed myself to truly break down, sobbing silently into my pillow.

What had I done? What was I going to do now? Almost with each moment that passed I changed my mind, flipping from one to the other.

I loved Jack – _loved_ him. How could I even consider ending the relationship I had with him?

At the same time, I'd told him back in March that I would continue our arrangement as long as it worked for me – I was open with him that I didn't know if I could continue the arrangement in the long-term. Now I looked ahead, through the two long years that stretched ahead of me before graduation, time that would be spent without him. Two years of phone calls, emails and texting; of missing him desperately; of weekends and the odd week spent together; and of the heartbreaking goodbyes that would follow those times.

The fault line that had been gradually developing across my heart...I felt it then, physically felt the movement of it as it finally split my heart in two.

It split, and I sobbed harder than I ever had before.

I couldn't believe what I was going to do.

-o-

Now, here at Jack's apartment, I've shown myself to be an utter coward, holding myself in even more contempt than I did before; because not only am I here to end my relationship with this lovely, wonderful man, but I've taken the despicable route of asking him – no, begging him – to make love to me, before I tell him. Somehow, since the beginning of May, I've become someone I don't even recognize – mercenary and self-serving.

We make love passionately and repeatedly, not stopping till well after the sun has set. When we are both exhausted and lie together in his bed, my head resting on his chest, I can't hold back my sadness anymore. Silently but unmistakably, my tears spill over. It doesn't take Jack long to realize that it isn't sweat that's keeping his chest damp, and he pulls away enough that he can see my face. He looks utterly alarmed as he takes in my tears.

"Jacey? Okay, enough – you've got me scared to death now. You _have_ to tell me what's wrong! Did something happen to you? Did someone hurt you?"

With the last sentence his voice escalates to near-panic and he starts to get up. I now have to work to calm him down.

"Shhh, Jackie – I'm just feeling emotional. Nobody hurt me" – except myself – "and I promise – I _promise_ – tomorrow we'll talk. For tonight, please just hold me."

He looks skeptical – as well he should, I suppose – but after peering at my face for a moment he concedes. "Okay. But we talk tomorrow." I nod and he lies back down. When he wraps me in his embrace again, he holds tightly, as if he's afraid to let go.

Somehow I do manage a few hours' sleep; Jack as well. Normally being in his arms is my ultimate comfort. Tonight, it's self-flagellation, as I know without a doubt it's the last time I'll ever feel it.

-o-

In the morning I wake to find Jack already up. I pull myself out of bed and stumble to the bathroom. I stare into the mirror at my bleary face and red eyes, and wonder how the hell I ever let this happen. I wander out to the living room to find Jack. He's in the kitchen, pouring himself a cup of coffee. When he sees me in the kitchen door he smiles, wordlessly pouring coffee into another cup he has already waiting for me. He hands it to me, then takes my free hand and leads me to the couch. We sit at opposite ends, silently facing each other.

It's clear he isn't going to speak; is going to let me lead. I take a deep breath in a fruitless attempt to calm my nerves. My voice shaking, I begin.

"I wish I knew how to begin to say this. The first thing I have to say is that I love you, Jack. I _love_ you."

"I know you do," he murmurs soothingly.

"Something has happened...over the last six weeks, and I didn't mean for it to happen...I mean, I never thought..." His face is cautious, waiting. "But it did happen, and Jackie...I can't believe I'm saying this to you..." I drop my voice to a whisper. "There's someone else."

He stares blankly at me. "Someone else _what_?"

I close my eyes. "I'm in love with someone else," I whisper. I keep my eyes shut tight until his silence forces me to open them. Jack's face is a mask of horror and shock, his body frozen in place.

"I thought I could do it, Jack – I thought I could keep sex and love separate. I tried, but I..." I don't know how to continue.

Jack, finally moving out of his frozen state, draws a deep breath, almost a slow gasp. "You're...in love...with someone else?" he repeats, his tone low, stunned.

I nod miserably, unable to meet the look of crushing hurt I see in his eyes. Silence descends upon us until, in a voice strained with emotion, he says, "This is my fault."

"Oh – Jack!" I plead, sliding closer to him. "No! Get mad at me, yell, hate me. Please, do not blame yourself."

"I insisted we keep our relationship open," he continues slowly, as though he hasn't heard me. "If I had agreed in March when I had the chance...but you went out somewhere and met someone because I took a risk...and risked the wrong thing..." He trails off, staring out the window before he shakes his head, murmuring, "I'm so sorry."

"Jack!" I almost cry. "Stop! Don't apologize. My god, I can't stand it."

"I love you," he continues vaguely. "I told you too late...I never thought..." He reaches for my hand, automatically, as though he's in a daze; he stares at it as he cradles it in both hands. "This must have been hell for you. I understand why you've been so upset."

A thousand masters of torture could not devise a more fitting punishment for me than the guilt, the consuming remorse I feel now at hearing Jack_ sympathize _with me. I deserve the punishment – every bit. I just wish it didn't come with the price tag of Jack's happiness.

"So, you love me, and you...love him," Jack muses, his voice faltering on the second half of the sentence. "What...what are you going to do?"

"If there's anything I've learned about myself," I remark quietly, "it's that I am not cut out to be in more than one relationship at a time. I'm suited for monogamy."

Jack nods, fastening his gaze firmly to my hand where it still rests in his. "So you have to decide. My heart...or his."

Here's where it gets worse.

"He's asked me to be...exclusive."

Jack looks up, startled, and then, of all things, he _laughs_ – a single, indignant burst. "He's crazy!" he says incredulously. "As if you would! After I asked you, and you said..." He falters as he sees the tears well in my eyes; his confidence begins to slip, but he tries again. "You wouldn't do that..." My tears spill over. "...Jacey...you didn't...you haven't..._have you?" _

I can't speak aloud, can only whisper the words that break our relationship. "I said yes."

As surprised as Jack was before, now he looks like he's been punched in the stomach. "You...you're leaving me?" I nod wretchedly and force myself to watch as his face crumples. "I can't believe...Jacey, no! I _love_ you. You love _me_! You can't...you're mistaken."

"Jack...please, let me explain why. I do love you – I _do_. But I can't be in a long-distance relationship anymore. I can't handle it. Everything about it isn't enough. Not enough talking, not enough day-to-day life with you, not enough closeness or sex...hell, not enough just being in the same room. Not enough of anything."

"Not enough love?" he challenges me, defiant.

"Enough love," I acknowledge. "But on its own, is love enough? Isn't a relationship more than just love?"

"No, you're right," Jack retorts angrily. "It's also communication, Jacey, and where the hell has your communication been on _this_ subject? Six weeks? Really? And when I was in Austin, you sat there and told me we've got to talk about stuff – and you were sitting on this _while_ we had that conversation?" My tears fall harder and I can't reply. The truth is too awful, and he already knows it.

He gets up from the couch and goes to stand at the sliding doors that lead to the balcony. His back to me, he stares out for what seems like forever. I start to wonder if he just wants me to leave. I stand, and he turns at the sound.

His face...I know his expression will be seared into my brain for the rest of my life. Anguish twists his features; his eyes are red, making the dramatic blue seem almost unnaturally vivid; his face is wet with the tears I've caused. My heart, already breaking, splits again to see my Jack...no...to see Jack so tortured. When he speaks, his voice is wracked with pain.

"I thought I was the one," he says, his voice breaking. "Like you were...like you _are_ for me."

"Remember in Austin when I said we were never on the same page? There's always so much working against us, Jackie," I offer, then wince when he grimaces, bringing a hand to cover his eyes.

"Could you please not call me that?" he asks in a whisper. I nod, biting my lip against the fresh flow of tears. "So...this is it, then," he says from behind the hand that still covers his face. "I suppose he knew you were coming here this weekend."

"He knew I was coming to Chicago," I reply.

"And when is he expecting you to return?"

"I wasn't sure when I'd get a flight back; but I'm booked on one for this afternoon."

He nods woodenly. "And was he expecting you were going to sleep with me last night?"

The charges, trial and conviction complete, I simply can't handle any more. Normally I would launch myself at Jack for comfort; I can't do that now. Instead I sink to the couch, lying down and burying my face in the cushion.

Within a few moments, I feel the couch cushion sink as Jack sits on the edge of the couch. Wordlessly he strokes my back until I roll to my side to look up at him. "I shouldn't have asked you to make love to me; not when I knew and you didn't. I needed you...but it shouldn't have mattered. Just another thing to never forgive myself for," I add bitterly.

He says nothing; and I suppose it's just as well. His words could either absolve me or incriminate me further; at this point, there doesn't seem to be much difference between the two. The simple kindness he's showing me now, providing some comfort, is so much more than I expected or deserve.

Eventually I sit up and he slides back beside me. Sitting shoulder to shoulder, he's so close to me. I ache to reach out and hold his hand, crawl into his embrace; but those things aren't mind anymore.

"I'm going to go take a shower," he says. "You'd better not be gone when I get out." Without waiting for an answer – because really, it wasn't a request – he gets up and goes to the bathroom. While he showers I go to my knapsack and pull something out. It's just a silly, sentimental thing, not of any monetary value, but it's something I want him to have. Maybe someday he'll have fond memories of the time we were together, and he'll look at this and think about us.

Or maybe he'll burn it after I leave.

I look around the apartment, trying to find a place to put it where he won't see it before we leave. Finally I place it under the newspaper on the coffee table, where he'll find it when he recycles the paper.

Jack gets out of the shower and, when he comes back to the living room dressed, he matter-of-factly tells me to go take one as well. At this I obey him, but when I'm clean and dressed and he asks what time I need him to take me to the airport, I put my foot down. "You're not," I tell him unequivocally. "I'm not letting you drive me to the airport. I'll call a cab." He protests, and I can't even understand _why_. It's too much – it's all too much and I simply can't accept another kindness from him.

He finally backs down, and in the moment of silence that follows his acquiescence, it's like we both realize...there's nothing left to say. It's over now; we're an "ex".

Tears, from both of us; whispered words that acknowledge the end; a final desperate hug; and one unchaste kiss that now qualifies as _stolen..._

...and then I slip out the door, leaving half my heart behind.

-o-

**Please remember, I love them. **

**Songs for these chapters: "Confessions" and "Coming Home", both by City and Colour.**


	23. Chapter 23

**Thank you for all your reviews, tweets, PMs and emails in response to the updates of 20, 21 and 22. Despite the wide range of emotions and re****actions, there was not a single response I could describe as ambivalent. Knowing so many of you care deeply for my boys, made me feel lovebombed. **

**I am still working my way through replying to all the reviews, but I didn't want to wait to post this, since it's ready now. Our Jackie has things to say. **

-o-

_Jack_

For a long time after Jacey leaves, I stand staring at the door. It's so surreal, I find it difficult to grasp what has happened – how my life has gone from promising and happy 24 hours ago, to bleak and barren.

My thoughts come in churning, disjointed flashes. I thought this would be my path. I thought Jacey was _mine_. I saw us together for many years to come. Instead, I am confronted with a life alone and the most searing pain I've ever felt. It feels almost too cruel.

How on earth did I misjudge this situation so completely? How did I not know Jacey had become emotionally involved with someone else? He told me he loved me...when I was in Austin he told me he loved me. Even today, before he began to dismantle my heart, he started by telling me he loved me. Were they just words to him?

My heart wrenches, and I rest my hand against the wall for support. I don't believe he didn't mean it. This is _Jacey_...

But what does "this is Jacey" mean to me now? This is Jacey - who admitted to having an emotional affair. This is Jacey – who misled me when I was in Austin, telling me he'd slept with someone but not being honest about the true nature of their relationship. This is Jacey – whose wonderful creativity, intelligence and gentleness won't be part of my life anymore. This is Jacey – whose soft, ripe mouth will press kisses to someone else's lips.

Picturing Jacey kissing that nameless, faceless someone brings fresh tears to my eyes, and I cross to the couch and flop down, pulling a tissue from the box to soak up my tears. I don't know who he is or what he looks like, the other man – I don't even know the name of the man who holds my Jacey's heart now. How did they meet? I don't know. What does he do? I don't know. Does he treat Jacey well? Does he understand him and understand how sensitive artists are? Does he appreciate how precious it is to listen to Jacey's sleep murmur?

I don't know the answer to any of these questions; but what difference would it make if I did? Would it ease my mind to know he's with someone who really does love him for who he is?

My entire body feels numb, except my chest. _ It_ feels like someone twisted and wrenched my heart until it split away from my body, leaving a raw, gaping wound. Far different from any emotional pain I ever felt over Ashton, worse than when he told me he'd met the woman he was going to marry; worse than when he did marry her. At those times I felt a dull ache, and when I found out they were engaged it felt like I'd been punched in the stomach, knocking the wind out of me for a few minutes.

It's different, too, from the pain of losing my father, even as unexpected and hideous as that was. It, too, left me gasping for breath; it brought me to my knees. But as much as I loved my father I never asked myself what I would do without him. I thought about the things he would miss seeing, the events in our lives when we would wish he was there. Never did I truly feel despair for his loss.

Now, though, faced with the loss of Jacey's love and his absence from my life...for the rest of my life, no Jacey – _oh god! _I can't fathom it. I want to go back to sleep and wake up again back in March; I want to tell Jacey I don't want any other boys; I want to ask him to move to Chicago for the summer...for his two remaining years of school...forever. I want to know that those beautiful blue-grey eyes will only fill with adoration and love when they look at _me_.

But it's too late. That door is closed to me and the beautiful path I saw stretching out before me...someone else is walking that path, instead; drawing Jacey along with him and leaving me behind to attempt to live through this.

I spend a long time on the couch, dabbing at the tears that slide down my cheeks. A few hours after Jacey leaves, my cell phone rings. It's directly in front of me on the coffee table so I don't have to sit up to grab it and answer.

"Hello?" I croak.

"Jack?" Mike's voice asks incredulously. I reply in the affirmative and he adds, "Wow, you sound terrible."

"Not doing well," I answer, half honestly.

"I didn't realize you were getting sick," he replies. "I was calling to find out if you wanted me to pick you up this afternoon for the game or if you wanted to drive, but it sounds like you're probably not up for it anyway."

"Game?" I answer blankly.

"The Cubs? We were going to see them this afternoon...there was something I wanted to talk to you about." He pauses. "Wow, you must be in rough shape if you forgot about _that_."

"Yeah. Sorry," is all I can manage.

"It's okay," he replies. "Are you in bed?"

"On the couch."

"Sounds like a good place to stay for the day," he suggests. "Drink fluids and rest."

"Uh-huh." I have to fighting desperately to keep my voice from breaking as I answer him. He means well, of course, and I appreciate his concern; but I know fluids and rest aren't going to help me.

"Well, I'll let you go," Mike says. "Let me know if you need anything, okay?"

_I need Jacey back._ "Thanks. See ya."

"Bye, Jack."

I hang up and toss the phone onto the newspaper on the coffee table. It lands with enough force that the paper slides a bit, and the corner of an unfamiliar book becomes visible beneath the paper. I sit up and reach for it, sliding it out from under the newspaper.

I immediately recognize it as one of Jacey's sketchpads. For a long time I hold it in my hands, closed; just staring at it. I don't know why he left it here, but it seems intentional, tucked as it was under the newspaper. I debate looking through it, but decide I just can't handle it now. I open up the shallow drawer in my coffee table and put the book in it before sliding it closed again; and then I let myself flop again, head-first into the couch cushions.

Time goes by – hours, maybe – and I lie on the couch, sometimes crying, sometimes not; but always with a throbbing pain where my heart used to be. The pain eddies with disbelief, swirling, repeating; each time I think this can't be happening, a fresh wave of pain washes over me, reminding me how very real it is.

Sometime mid-afternoon, I hear a key in my door. Only one other person has a key to my apartment. He enters and sets something on the dining room table before he sees me on the couch.

"Jack?" Mike's voice is quiet but shocked. He moves around the couch to kneel on the floor. "What the hell...? Are you in pain? Do you need to go to the hospital?" Seeing me cry, and believing I'm sick, he is jumping to the closest logical conclusion. Unfortunately it's the wrong one.

I close my eyes, and a couple more tears squeeze out. "Yes, I'm in pain; no, the hospital can't do anything for me."

"What...what's wrong?" he pleads, his hand coming up to cover my forehead.

"Jacey..." A single word doesn't quite explain it, but it's the only thing I can get out before my voice breaks again.

"Jacey?" Mike repeats sharply. "What about Jacey? Did something happen to him?"

"He...fell in love..." Saying it out loud feels too cruel – I can't continue with that sentence. Instead I add, "He left me."

Mike's face transforms from concern to horror. "He _left_ you?" he repeats, disbelieving. "For someone else?"

I nod and bury my face in the cushion. I don't need to see Mike to know that he is frozen in shock beside me. After a few moments, he recovers enough to get up and move to the dining room, taking something out of a bag and putting it in my fridge, moving around in my kitchen. I hear him pass behind the couch and go to my bedroom. A moment later he's back. "Move just a bit," he whispers. "Let me sit with you."

I comply, stiff from being still for so long. When I've lifted my head enough to see him, I can see he's carrying a pillow from my bed. He sits at the end of the couch, close to the arm, and lays the pillow on his lap. "Here," he murmurs, patting the pillow, encouraging me to rest my head again. I do, and for a long time we are there quietly together. Mike has moved the Kleenex closer on the coffee table, and placed a glass of ice water and a bottle of ibuprofen there. I make use of them all.

As we sit, Mike's left hand rubs gently up and down my back and shoulder; and his right strokes my hair, combing through the short strands soothingly. "That feels nice," I eventually comment, my voice cracking.

"I wish you'd told me earlier," he tells me gently. "You know I'd have been here for you."

"Why _are_ you here?" I ask. "Why did you come over?"

"I brought you some soup," he replies. "I thought some of that swamp water with lentils you seem to like, might help you feel better. Have you eaten anything today?" I shake my head slightly. He continues, "I thought as much. Would you like me to heat some up for you?"

"Not right now; I'll have some later," I reply, gratefully adding, "Thanks."

"You're welcome," is Mike's quiet acknowledgment. We lapse into silence again for a while, his fingers absently twisting into my hair. After a while he whispers, "Do you want to tell me what happened?"

I groan and push myself off him, sitting up straight. I reach out and take a long draw from the water, wetting my throat before answering. My voice shaking, I begin telling him about coming home last night and being absolutely shocked and thrilled to find Jacey on my step; about how quiet and withdrawn he was, very unlike himself; about being with him last night and how emotional Jacey was afterward; and about the bombshell he dropped this morning. "He loves me. But he fell in love with someone else, someone local. He chose him, because...I guess he felt the long-distance relationship wasn't working."

Mike is incredulous. "That's fucked up. I can't fucking believe he did that to you!"

I'm surprised by the vehemence of his words. "Mike, it wasn't an easy decision for him. The other guy...Jesus, I don't even know his name...but he and I both asked Jacey to be exclusive. Jacey chose what he could live with."

"What about who Jacey can't live without?" Mike counters hotly. "He chose wrong."

"I think so" – of course – "but it was his decision."

"No, he made a mistake." Mike is adamant. "He may not know it yet...but I saw you together. I saw how much he loved you...and how much you loved him, Jack." His words cause a lump to rise in my throat. "The two of you are exactly right for each other, I know it; and I know you know it. And I think, deep down, Jacey does too." He shakes his head disgustedly. "I'm so angry with him."

"Why?" I wonder out loud. "Why are you so angry with him? I'm the one he dumped."

"Jack," he looks at me as if I should know better. "This time last year I was in love, and _happy_, with the person I saw myself with for the rest of my life. And that person..."

"Ethan," I supply quietly.

"I can say his name," Mike replies a little testily. "_Ethan_ chose someone else over me. It's a shitty way to be treated, and I don't like seeing my best friend treated the same way."

Of course – it makes sense now. This must be hitting a little too close to home for Mike. But... "I'm your best friend?" I look to him and for the first time since Jacey left, I feel like it's possible for me to crack a tiny smile.

My question seems to interrupt Mike's indignation and he turns to me with a little smile of his own. "I wouldn't scoop swamp water out of the Wendt Play Lot bog for just anyone, you know."

I shove my shoulder into his, a gruff and wordless expression of gratitude and friendship. In response he puts an arm around me, giving a quick squeeze before relaxing his arm, letting it rest along my shoulders. After a moment he asks, "So how will this affect your plans for the Fourth?"

His words take my breath away. I've been so blind to everything except the immediate crisis that I hadn't even thought about the trip to Seattle for the holiday weekend. Now I'm confronted with the prospect of going to Seattle alone. Far from being a happy reunion with my friends and an chance for them to meet my Jacey, instead it'll be akin to returning with my tail between my legs; a failed relationship instead of the vibrant love I told everyone I'd found.

That leads to the realization that I'll also have to tell my mother; and that thought almost brings tears to my eyes again. She was _so_ happy to know I'd found...the one, and very excited to meet him. This will be heartbreaking for her, and will start her worrying about me all over again.

I don't relish the thought at all. I answer Mike honestly, "I don't know what I'm going to do about Seattle."

He answers promptly, "You should still go." When I sigh, he continues, "You need your friends, Jack. You wanted to see them anyway; and now it's even more important for you to have them around you."

"I'll think about it," I promise; and it seems to satisfy him. He gives my shoulder another squeeze and releases me.

The rest of the day – the rest of the weekend, really – he hangs out; occasionally taking care of me, but mostly just being there with me. At some point Saturday afternoon I remember that he was supposed to be at a ball game, but he shrugs it off, saying it's not a big deal. He stays on my couch Saturday night; Sunday morning, he goes out to the corner store to pick up a newspaper and some stuff for breakfast – my planned shopping trip yesterday morning having gone by the wayside – while I call my mom.

I've decided there's no reason to delay telling her, partly because she expressed frustration in May about me and my habit of keeping things to myself; partly because I just want to 'run home to mama', and this is the next best thing. I tell her gently, leaving out the part about the other guy – there's no need for her to think of negatively of Jacey, and I know she would if I told her this. I do tell her it was Jacey's decision; that he found a long-distance relationship too difficult to maintain and ended things. Mom is upset, of course, and worried about me; she wants me to come home to California. I know that with my trip already booked to Seattle, I won't be able to travel again before mid-August. I suggest maybe she could come to stay with me in mid-July, for a week or two. We decide she'll come the week after my brother Aaron's birthday, which is the fourteenth.

We chat for a while and she tells me how my grandmother's doing – no change – and about my brothers. Before I let her go, I ask her not to tell Kay and David, Ashton's parents, about the breakup – not yet. I'd like to tell Ashton and Kathleen first, and I'm not quite ready to do that yet. She agrees, and makes me promise to call her whenever I need to talk. I assure her that Mike knows and is already taking care of me; she knows Mike and I have become good friends, so I think that gives her some reassurance that I'm not going to brood by myself every night.

There are a few times throughout the weekend when the realization hits me anew and I tear up again. It's not as though I forget – just sort of manage to think about something else for a few seconds, and when I remember, the band-aid gets torn off the wound once more. Mike is as kind as he always is; most often, his acknowledgement of those moments consists of just sitting quietly until I collect myself, and then continuing on with what we were doing. We don't even talk a great deal, about Jacey or much else. We do spend a lot of time simply being adjacent to each other. I'm used to sorting through times like this on my own, and so I wouldn't have thought I would end up being so grateful for his presence in my apartment for that twenty-four hours; nevertheless, I am.

The worst moment, when it hits me the hardest, is when I go to bed on Saturday night. It would have been difficult anyway, with the memories I have of Jacey here; but it's made a thousand times worse by being able to smell him on my pillows and in my sheets. I pull a pillow to me and inhale, letting the scent torture me; and I resolve to wash my sheets the next day.

As Mike leaves to go home Sunday afternoon, it occurs to me that there was something he wanted to talk to me about this weekend. When I ask him about it, he shrugs. "Oh – it really wasn't anything important. Some other time."

"You sure?" I ask.

"Yep. No big." He hugs me, adding, "You call me this week – anything you need. I mean it." I agree, thanking him for being here to look after me; and with one last smile, he's gone.

-o-

Through the week I throw myself into my work, staying an hour or two late each night on a project I invent to keep myself busy. Every night when I get home there's a message waiting for me on the machine. On Tuesday I receive an unexpected email. It's from Jacey, who has looked up the amount of the cancellation fee for the ticket I bought for his trip to Seattle; he sends me the difference, the amount I won't get back, by PayPal with a short explanation. After explaining what the payment is for, he adds, "I'm so sorry. -Jacey."

I stare at the email that harshly spells out, in black and white and HTML, that Jacey most definitely won't be meeting me in Seattle; that his ticket will not be used and that I should go ahead and cancel it. And that he's sorry...sorry for what? Sorry because he's not going? Sorry for the inconvenience of cancelling the ticket? Sorry he had the choice between me and someone else, and he didn't choose me?

For all the emotions I have roiling in me, I can't find it in me to be angry with him. Almost exclusively, I feel crushing sadness; when I'm home at night, and there's not much to keep my mind occupied, it borders on despondency. Fortunately, the people who know about Jacey and me don't often leave me to my own devices. My mom calls every night; my brothers call often too, which is unusual. Even Aaron is uncharacteristically empathetic. Mike convinces me to go to the gym at least a couple nights a week, knowing I'll regret it if I allow myself to get out of the habit and have to start again.

However, I put off calling my friends in Seattle, mostly because I just don't know what I'm going to do. I miss my friends, and I miss being in the city; but the Fourth of July is supposed to be a light weekend. Our group has always managed to pull off something fun, and since Jasper and Edward became part of the circle, we've capped it off with the Cullens' barbecue. I don't want to go out there just to be a downer.

There's also the matter of being, well, embarrassed. I told everyone how happy and in love I was, and almost immediately it ended. People will certainly wonder how I misjudged it so badly, not that I blame them – I've been wondering the same thing. And that possibly makes it even worse, because I don't have a good answer.

By the time I find myself in the middle of the following week, I can add guilt to embarrassment. I know I should have called Ashton and Kathleen before this; I should have called them at least a week ago, if only to tell them about the end of my relationship. I've been screening their calls; and I have a message from Ashton, left on Monday night, wanting to firm up details of "our" flights. Jasper calls me Tuesday and again, I let it go to my machine. Wednesday night I wait up till about 10 pm Chicago time, hoping by then Ashton will be finished dinner and able to talk.

When I call it rings twice before he answers it. "Jackie!" he says into the phone, not in a questioning, mild hello you normally answer the phone with. He obviously is excited to hear from me and, I imagine, at the prospect of seeing me again.

After we exchange greetings, he expresses how excited he is for the upcoming holiday weekend. "Actually, I have bad news."

"What's that?"

"Jacey isn't coming to Seattle. I'm sorry, I should have told you sooner, but..." I finish like a moron, knowing there's no good excuse for not having called. "And...I'm sorry for the short notice, but I don't think I can come either."

There is dead silence on the other end of the line, until Ashton asks point-blank, "What the hell are you talking about?"

I take a deep breath and plunge in. "Jacey broke up with me. I imagine he'll be staying in Austin with his new boyfriend. And I...I just don't...I can't come hang out all weekend, Ash; the thought of everyone around, wondering where Jacey is and then being all pitying when they find out I got dumped. I'm doing you a favor, really – I'd just be a wet blanket all weekend. No one wants that."

"You're doing me a favor?" he repeats blankly. In the background on his end, I hear Kathleen ask what's wrong. He answers her bitterly, "My best friend, whom I haven't seen in four and a half months, is cancelling a trip to visit us, two days before he's supposed to arrive." He pauses and Kathleen asks about Jacey. "Jacey isn't coming either, because he broke up with Jack to...to be with someone else, is that right, Jack? Forgive me, I'm finding it a little difficult to keep up..." His tone is cold and impeccably polite; his words are biting. "So Jack's favor to us is that he's keeping his wet blanket in Chicago this weekend."

Kathleen gets the phone away from Ashton, and immediately her sweet, concerned voice is in my ear. "Jackie – is that true? Jacey broke up with you? For someone else?"

"Yeah," I reply, smarting from Ashton's censure even though I know full well I deserve every bit of it. "It's true."

"Honey, I'm so sorry. When did that happen?" she asks.

I wince. "A week ago Saturday."

"Ten days ago? Jackie, are you kidding me?" Now she's the one to sound hurt, and though she doesn't lash out with biting sarcasm the way Ashton did, the quiet disappointment in her voice is almost worse. "Why didn't you _call_ us?" she implores.

"It's been difficult for me to talk about it...and I didn't know if I'd make it to Seattle – I thought I might still come, but I just...I can't. I'd be terrible company. And everyone would be feeling _sorry_ for me, and I just don't think I can handle that. I'm sorry, Kath. I know it's short notice, and I appreciate that you were going to open up your home to us...me. I wanted to see your new place..."

"Jack," she sighs; but whatever she was going to say, she doesn't.

"I love you guys. Give everyone a hug for me, okay?"

"You take care, Jackie," she replies resignedly.

As we hang up, I feel guilty, of course, knowing Ashton is upset with me. I also know that if I don't call Jasper and Edward now, they'll be calling me in about three minutes; so I call them right away. Edward answers, and I'm relieved. I love Jasper; he's one of my dearest friends. Despite that, Edward is who I need right now, especially after talking to Ashton. Edward is more like me than any of our other friends; he's more reserved, much less demonstrative – except with Jasper, of course. When I tell him about the breakup, he reacts in exactly the same way I would if one of our friends was going through the same thing. He listens without interrupting. He doesn't get upset on my behalf; he doesn't pronounce judgment on Jacey. He tells me how sorry he is to hear it, and that he wishes I'd reconsider my trip; but there's no guilt. Edward knows people have to deal with things in their own way; even if he doesn't think I'm going about this in a productive way, he knows it's up to me.

Jasper is out, so I don't end up talking to him. After Edward again tells me how much they'll miss me this weekend, we hang up; and I send a quick email to Jasper, knowing he'll get it later tonight when he gets home. I promise to call him over the weekend and tell him everything.

-o-

The next day is Thursday, and it's my last day of work for the week. I'm tidying things up at work for the weekend. Between the days I had booked for vacation, and the holiday Monday, I won't be back until Wednesday. A few minutes before five o'clock, Jenna pokes her head in my office door. "Excuse me, Jack? I just got a call from reception downstairs. There's a woman asking to see you; she doesn't have an appointment."

"Damn," I mutter. "Who shows up without an appointment five minutes before closing?"

"Reception said her name is-" Jenna checks her notepad, "Kathleen Byrne."

_Kathleen_? "Are you sure they said she's downstairs? Not on the phone?"

Jenna looks at me like I'm a little odd. "Uh...they definitely said downstairs. I told them I wasn't sure you were still in the building. Should I tell them you've already left for the day?"

"No, no," I answer quickly. "Let them know I'll be down to see her in a couple of minutes."

"Sure," Jenna agrees. I'm already ready to go, so I shut down my computer, gather up my stuff and take off. When I emerge from the stairwell two floors below, Kathleen is sitting in a chair in the reception area.

"Kathleen!" I exclaim. "Jesus, it really is you!" As she rises, I step quickly to greet her, tossing my stuff in a chair and hugging her tight.

"Jackie," she murmurs. "God, I missed you."

I give her a kiss on the cheek. "Missed you too. Do you have plans for dinner?" I ask lightly, as though there's nothing out of place at all about her being here. I can't believe she's in Chicago, particularly since I just spoke to her last night and she said nothing about it; however, I have a feeling she won't keep me waiting long to find out. What's more, I strongly suspect I'm about to get my ass kicked by a girl.

"You're taking me out," she says, adding, "and then I'm staying over." She grins, but it's a tight, careful smile; nothing like the beaming smile I'm used to from her.

"Yes, ma'am," I reply deferentially. I gather my stuff from the chair and offer her my arm, and together we head out to find a place to have dinner.

To her credit, Kathleen strenuously ignores the elephant in the room until we're seated at a quiet corner booth in a nearby restaurant. We make small talk until the waiter has brought us each a drink – I don't drink during the week, but I'm making an exception tonight – and taken our dinner orders.

When he leaves I remark, "You know, it's funny, we just talked last night, and you didn't mention last night that you were going to be in Chicago today." I raise one eyebrow at her playfully.

She returns my gaze evenly and without flinching. "Our conversation last night is the reason I'm here, Jack. And I wouldn't describe it as funny. _I'm_ certainly not laughing."

-o-

**My Bethie says she can hear me saying Kathleen's last line. **grins****

**Thanks to ArcadianMaggie and SandyK199 for agreeing to preview Ch 20, 21 and 22 for me before posting. Any chance you could be pissed off at them instead of at me...? No?  
**


	24. Chapter 24

**I love you all. Even you, the people who are mad at me (yes, you – I see you there). It's okay****, I can take it. Because I love you. And I'm digging in.  
**

-o-

_Jack_

By the time I go to bed Thursday night I am at once chastened _and _feeling the warmth of my friends' love.

My own bed given up to my unanticipated but very welcome houseguest, I'm bunking in the living room. As I get comfortable, glad for the extra-long couch that allows me to stretch out comfortably, I reflect on the evening I've spent with Kathleen.

"_I'm certainly not laughing." Her tone was serious, her expression concerned; a hint of frustration showed around the edges. "First of all, I have to apologize for the way Ashton reacted. He's sorry too. After he calmed down and had a chance to think about it, he realized he'd acted like an ass. I'm not making excuses for him, Jack; he was exceptionally self-absorbed...but you know what he's like. He reacts emotionally to change and disappointment. He was so upset about you not coming, that he couldn't focus on the reason for it. He wanted to call you back last night; but I suggested he wait."_

"_Wait for what?"_

"_To do it in person. I'm here to take you back to Seattle." She spoke with her usual warmth, but there was no equivocation in her tone._

"_Kath, I told you last night – I'm not going to Seattle."_

"_Just hear me out, Jack. I am so sorry about your relationship ending. I wanted to meet Jacey; Ashton did too, and everyone else. We're sorry; and we want you to come home and let us take care of you. We love you. Ashton loves you."_

_I looked away sheepishly, unable to meet her eyes when she brought up love. I had often wondered if Kathleen knew just how deep my feelings for Ashton once were._

_She saw me avoid her gaze and reached across the table to take my hand. "Jack...can I be honest with you?" _

"_Of course," I replied, trying to affect an attitude of easiness I didn't feel._

"_Okay. Now...don't freak out, please...but I've suspected for a while that you had feelings for Ashton. I know, or at least I think I have a sense, of how difficult it must be when you're... in love?" She pauses, tilting her head questioning. I hesitate a moment before nodding slightly. She continues, "In love with your best friend, who doesn't feel the same way. Who's straight, no less. And these feelings – you've had them for a while, right?" She states it more as a fact than as a question, so I don't respond. She sighs. "It broke my heart, Jack, when you lived in Seattle and I knew how hard it must have been for you."_

"_Kath," I finally spoke, "you're not angry with me? For being in love with your husband?"_

"_Aww, Jackie, of course I'm not. You can't help who you fall in love with. Hell, how can I blame you for being in love with him, when I am too? All I really wanted was for you to be happy; so many times I've wished you'd find happiness with someone who'd love you the way you deserve to be loved. You're a good man, Jackie."_

_I squeezed her hand, grateful for the gracious and caring woman she was. At that point our salads arrived. We ate in silence for a few moments, as I got up the courage to ask her something that was worrying me now that I knew she was aware of my feelings for Ashton. "Does Ashton know?"_

"_I've never mentioned it, and if he knows he hasn't said anything to me. I don't think he does, though. You know Ashton – he has the worst poker face in the world." I laughed in spite of myself, because it was such an accurate observation. "Anyway, even if he did suspect, he would consider it for about five seconds before he rolled his eyes and said to himself, 'Oh, get over yourself'." _

_Hearing Kathleen talk about my best friend, recounting his personality and his quirks, suddenly I was desperate to see him. "Jesus," I nearly gasped. "I've missed you guys so much."_

"_We've missed you too, Blue Eyes." She grinned widely._

"_I did not miss the name," I groused. "At least no one in Chicago calls me that."_

"_Good to see you're crusty as ever. Seriously, though – every time the gang gets together, your absence is felt. And I know Ashton misses you every day." _

_I cleared my throat. "Uh...just so you know...I'm not still in love with Ashton. That faded a while ago; and not just because I met Jacey. Moving accomplished what I...um..." I trailed off – I was basically admitting that I'd moved to get away from them. _

_Kathleen didn't miss my slip. "Oh my god...that's why you moved?" she asked softly. It was clearly the first time it had occurred to her. "To get over Ashton?"_

_I sighed before deciding to just be honest. "Yeah. And because I didn't think I could watch the two of you...be happy. I know that sounds terrible, Kath; I feel like such a jerk saying it."_

"_Wow." She pursed her lips thoughtfully. "I guess I didn't know how difficult it was for you." _

_Our entrees arrived; perfect timing, by my way of thinking. It gave each of us a few moments to collect our thoughts before Kathleen continued._

"_I understand why you had to leave, Jack. It was self-preservation; and if you were ever going to have a chance at your own happiness you had to get out from under the stuff that was holding you back. But...god, I so don't want to make you feel guilty...but Ashton is upset. He thinks you've pulled away from him completely. He was looking at this weekend as an opportunity to reconnect with you; he wanted to show you the new house and have the chance to just hang out again. Hearing that you were cancelling, and finding out you didn't call him for support when your relationship ended..." She sighs and looks out the window briefly. "He was hurt. And I know it's not the same pain you're feeling, losing your partner...but it's real, for him." She looks at me pleadingly. "I hate seeing him fret over losing your friendship, Jack. Please come to Seattle." _

"_Kath...I don't know..."_

"_You told us you'd be poor company – a wet blanket, I think you said?" She reached across the table and took my hand. "Sweetheart, I am going to be brutally honest. You're not exactly a laugh riot at the best of times." _

_I was taken so off-guard by her comment that I burst into laughter. "Wow, when you say brutally honest, you mean it." _

_"What I mean is, you're reserved and quiet; sometimes you're just plain moody. It's the way you've been as long as I've known you; as long as Ashton's known you. We love you the way you are. All of us." She could tell I was still waffling, and she added, "Come on – give us a chance to love on you, Jack. I know you get all embarrassed when we do; but you have to admit it feels good, too, right?" She gave me a sly smile._

_I looked away to try to stifle my own smile, employing avoidance instead of answering the question. "I can't believe you came all the way to Chicago to get me. You took the time off work?"_

"_I found my boss more than willing to give me the time off – he himself having a vested interest in your presence in Seattle," she replied wryly. _

"_Traitor," I muttered, but there was a smile under my words. _

_Kathleen chuckled. "Did you exchange your tickets already?"_

"_Just Jacey's," I replied. "I never did cancel my own."_

_She looks triumphant. "Uh-huh – I think you really did want to come to Seattle."_

_I sigh. "Maybe; I guess. I just..."_

"_It's okay, Jackie," she assures me gently. "It's our secret. No one else knows you were cancelling – Ashton, Edward and Jasper and me. We hadn't told the rest of the gang yet because we hoped we'd be able to convince you. So...have I convinced you?"_

_I meet her hopeful gaze and hold it for a moment before acquiescing. "Fine, I give up," I reply. "I'll go to Seattle."_

_She did a little, understated victory dance in her seat, holding her arms up like she was calling a touchdown. "Good! I'm so glad, Jackie. Let me text Ashton, and then...dessert!"_

Ashton really is lucky, I reflect, to be happily married to someone as genuinely fantastic as Kathleen is. Maybe it's a sign of growth on my part that I feel only happiness and gratitude for his felicitous situation – no twinge of jealousy or bitterness, not even a small one.

-o-

As it turns out, it's a damn good thing I didn't let go of my ticket. Because I booked the tickets a couple of months ago, I have a reasonably-priced direct flight that has me leaving Chicago at 8 am and arriving in Seattle at 10:30 local time. Kathleen, having purchased her flights last minute, has paid quite a bit, and while she'll leave shortly after 9 am, she has to connect in Minneapolis and won't arrive in Seattle till 1:30. She won't let me pay for her flight, though – not even for part of it – and we can't even trade tickets for today's flight so she can get there before me.

We debate on what to do. She could give me her keys and let me go on ahead to their place, and she's more than willing to, but in the end I tell her I'll just wait for her at the airport. It's a pretty good drive from Sea-Tac to Ashton and Kathleen's house in Wallingford – between twenty-five minutes and an hour, depending on traffic. Not only that, I haven't even been to this house yet, and I would feel odd walking in when no one's home and just making myself at home. I don't mind waiting at the airport.

Before leaving the house I give Mike a quick call to let him know I'm going to Seattle after all. He already has plans this weekend, though he's been sort of vague on the details; so he's glad I won't be sitting home by myself. He's already told me that going to Seattle would be good for me. He sounds a little triumphant when I tell him about the sneak attack by Kathleen, chuckling that she sounds like someone he'd like to meet sometime.

At O'Hare, I give her a quick kiss goodbye before boarding my flight. It's uneventful, and after I disembark at Sea-Tac I grab some lunch from one of the concessions; there's a bagel place on this concourse and I scarf a bagel and soup. Travelling light this weekend, I don't have any checked luggage so I don't need to go to baggage claim. I wander around the concourse checking out the artwork I've seen numerous times before – it's one of the cool things about Sea-Tac. My favorite part of this concourse is the stained glass; there are two installations by the same artist, and I love the colors.

Of course, any artwork I see now, regardless of what it is, makes me think of Jacey. I still know his schedule, have it hardwired into my brain now, and I know he's off this weekend. In fact, by now he should be on his way back to Austin...or maybe he's headed to Kingsland for the holiday weekend...or maybe it's neither of the two. Perhaps he's going to wherever...the guy...is from.

I sigh and sink down into one of the seats near the gate where Kathleen's flight will disembark. I pull out my phone and stare idly at the keys. So many times I've done this - considered texting him, emailing, calling. Always, I end up talking myself out of it – what would it accomplish, except bringing both of us more pain? Except...being out of touch with him is torture. I haven't gone two weeks without talking to him since I moved to Chicago; that was when our contact became more frequent. I grew to rely on having him to talk to; he was the person who knew everything about me, and shared his stuff with me too.

I don't just miss my boyfriend and my lover. I miss my best friend.

On the other hand, I reflect as Kathleen emerges from her gate and spots me, I have another kind of best friend. This one was with me for college – was my roommate for three years during school and another year or so after we moved to Seattle. He knows my family. There are so many things I don't have to explain to him, especially when it comes to my history, because he already knows them all. He chose me as his best man when he married the woman of his dreams. And the way I've excluded him from my life over the past several months is pretty atrocious, by best friend standards.

By the time Kathleen and I arrive at their place, it's about three o'clock. They purchased this house in April, so it's the first time I've seen it other than in pictures and on the real estate listing. It's a one-and-a-half-storey Craftsman-style home, like most of the houses on this block. It has a red brick verandah on the front, cream-colored stucco and white trim. The front yard is small, sloping sharply from the steps to the sidewalk, but impeccably maintained. An American flag is fluttering gently from one of the columns that support the porch roof, and the aging concrete front walk is flanked by annual plants in bright colors.

"So, this is it." Kathleen states the obvious, proudly surveying the home as she pulls into the driveway. It is quite a bit lower than the yard, separated by a retaining wall. I am generous with my praise of the house. I love the style - my parents' home in Fresno is also a Craftsman and I've always loved those details. It looks cozy and welcoming; exactly what I would picture for this pair. And as I see when we walk past the house to the back yard, it'll be a great place for them to start a family. The yard is, again, small, but completely fenced, with a detached garage in the back corner and ample room for a little one to run around. The neighbors on both sides have filled their yards with a mix of deciduous and coniferous trees, giving this house a ton of privacy without taking up space in the yard – a fairly ideal set-up.

Kathleen gives me the grand tour, ending with the guest room where I'll be staying. She leaves me there to get settled, pointing out the towels on the dresser if I'd like to shower. I unpack my bag into the little dresser and stow my suitcase under the bed before wandering to the windows to check out the view. The room looks onto the back yard and driveway; but more than that, it looks out over the long gradual slope that begins just north of this house and ends many blocks south, at Lake Union. The slope is enough that I can see all the way to downtown, on the other side of the lake. It's been months since I saw this particular vista of the buildings I knew so well when I lived here. I lived much closer to downtown, since my office was there; but I can actually see it better from here than I could from my old place.

As I gaze at the city, I shake my head slightly, realizing that, despite growing up in Fresno, despite going to school for four years in Boston, and despite now living in Chicago, Seattle is the city that feels like _home_. A little over a month ago, I considered my home to be wherever Jacey was. I no longer have anything tethering me to him, never mind how much I wish I did; and so Seattle is it. This is the place where I was first able to be an adult – no longer in school, no longer relying on my parents; making my own money and my own decisions. I did have a lot of great memories here...adventures with Ashton, dinners with our group of friends, meeting Jasper and eventually Edward and forming a bond with them. I've been so eager to leave behind the bad memories that I've unintentionally blocked out some of the good ones, too. Coming back has reminded me how much I've missed this place.

Thank goodness for Kathleen.

I decide to head to the shower and get rid of the grit of travelling. By the time I'm finished and back in my room toweling off, I hear Ashton's voice downstairs. He is home much earlier than usual; but Kathleen told me he planned to leave work early today. Quickly I pull on some casual clothes – just shorts and a t-shirt – and head downstairs, eager to see him. I can hear Kathleen telling him about my apartment, and I let their voices lead me to the back of the house, through the kitchen and out onto the back porch.

Ashton turns when he hears me open the screen door. "Here he is!" he exclaims, a brilliant smile illuminating his face. He crosses the porch swiftly and each of us reaches out to catch the other in a bear hug.

"Ash," I murmur, hugging him tight.

He briefly squeezes harder before releasing me; but he keeps his hand on my shoulder. "I'm so glad you're here, bro," he says warmly. I don't miss that Kathleen quietly slips past us and into the kitchen, closing the screen door behind her.

"Well, your wife is pretty persuasive," I tell him with a wry smile.

"Good thing she only uses her powers for good." He gestures to the deck chairs, where a couple of tall glasses sit next to a pitcher of iced tea. "Here, sit. Relax."

"The house looks great," I tell him as he pours us each a glass of tea. "Especially with those two cedars gone from the front."

He grimaces, remembering the ratty cedars that stood flanking the front step when he and Kathleen took possession of the house. Ashton started out at Harvard, but after his freshman year, discovered his true calling. He managed to swing a transfer to Boston Architectural College, and graduated, on schedule, with a Bachelor's Degree in Landscape Architecture. As such, he found those poorly-maintained cedars particularly offensive. "Those were gone the first weekend, bro. It looks so much better now."

"It does," I agree. "The whole house, really – it's a great place."

"We each had our zone – Kathleen took the inside, I took the outside. We just made it happen. She tells me your apartment is really nice, too; some cool architectural details."

I ignore the little stab of pain that comes with the reminder of someone else who loved those details. "I like it," I answer simply.

"Good," he replies, and settles back into the deep Adirondack chair with his glass of tea. We sip our drinks in silence for a few moments before he speaks again.

"Jack," he begins. "I am so relieved you decided to come after all. I wouldn't have been surprised in the least if you'd just said, 'Screw it,' after the way I reacted. I was just a complete ass. I'm sorry I was so insensitive, and self-absorbed. I'm _really_ sorry you and Jacey broke up; I can't believe he chose someone else. What a-" He stops himself, clearly making a conscious effort not to put his foot in his mouth again. After struggling with his words for a few seconds, he concludes simply, "I'm sorry." He pats my hand where it rests on the arm of the deck chair, and his expression is so earnest that I almost feel bad for him.

"Thank you," I reply. "I'll be honest; it really wasn't what I was expecting when I called you." He looks down at his lap remorsefully. "But I understand why you were upset, because it wasn't what _you_ were expecting when I called you, either, right? I haven't been a great friend since I moved. I know I've been distant, and I know you've felt like I was pulling away or...keeping you out of the loop. There have been things that have been difficult for me to talk about. I know I could have just _not_ talked about them, but..."

"You clam up completely," he finished. "This is _me_, Jack. You don't have to explain it - I already know."

"Of course you do." I look up at him with a faint smile, half sheepish that he has to work around this part of me, half grateful that he already knows and accepts this about me. The same way that I accept his _does not handle change or disappointment well. _"But that doesn't mean I can't try to improve the fault." Quiet settles over us again as we contemplate a friendship forged in spite of flaws – or perhaps because of them. We really are well-suited for each other as friends, for the same reason Jacey and I suited each other as lovers and partners.

Ashton interrupts my reverie. "Forgive me?" he asks gently.

"Of course. And you?"

"I forgive you." He extends his fist over the little table between us and I meet it for a bump, feeling the ridge of diamonds on his wedding ring against my finger. After a warm smile, he carefully asks, "So...how are you doing? Since the breakup, I mean. Have you talked to him at all?"

I sigh. "No. I got an email from him; he sent me a PayPal transfer to reimburse me for the cost of cancelling his ticket to Seattle."

"Jesus," Ashton swears under his breath. "I suppose he thought he was doing the right thing, but...that's harsh."

I nod. "It was all really business-like. Except..."

"Except?" Ashton prompts.

"At the end he wrote, 'I'm so sorry.' I don't know what he's sorry for, but I guess that's something." I shrug, looking down at my lap.

"And other than that - no contact? Have you tried to call him?" he prods gently.

"No. I've thought about it...a lot."

"What's holding you back?"

"I can't imagine he _wants_ to talk to me. I know he said he still loves me, but I'm sure he'd rather I just leave him alone to make a new life with...the guy."

Ashton makes a small strangled sound and I look up to find him gaping at me. "He told you he still loves you? _After_ he broke up with you?"

"_As_ he was breaking up with me," I correct. "It wasn't an easy choice for him...but the other guy asked him to be exclusive, and...well, long-distance relationships suck ass..."

Ashton seems flabbergasted. When he finds his voice again, it's clear he's working hard to restrain himself. "I'm finding it difficult not to say something very unpleasant about Jacey right now."

"I wish you wouldn't," I mutter.

"I won't," he agrees. "I don't want to hurt you again, Jack; and I know you love him, so I won't. But I will tell you, if I was in this situation, I wouldn't be nearly as gracious as you are."

Considering the events of the past couple of days, I can't help a humorless chuckle before I reply, "I believe you."

He frowns at me as he absorbs the mild teasing in my words, and then shakes his head. "You don't want to discuss this anymore, do you." It's a question, not a statement.

"Not really. Not now," I answer honestly.

"Okay," he replies. "I have one more thing to say and then I'll leave it alone." I nod, encouraging him to continue. "I don't know this other guy, but I think Jacey chose poorly."

I give him a grateful look before adding, "That seems to be the general consensus. Too bad Jacey didn't ask you guys" – I wave my hand, a general indication of all my friends – "before he showed up at my apartment to end it. Could have saved a lot of heartache."

Ashton gives me a sympathetic look, reaching across to squeeze my hand again. The heavy topic sits between us for a while; the only sounds those of neighborhood children, birds hidden in a tree somewhere and a gentle wind through the trees that flank the back yard.

Again, Ashton is the first to speak. "So, did you want to do anything special tonight?"

"Well...maybe no big groups tonight? Could it be just us?"

He purses his lips. "I think Kath has already been talking to Jasper and Edward, though..."

"Oh! Yes, of course – that's fine," I reply quickly. "You know I love them. I was mainly thinking about, um..." I look over my shoulder to make sure Kathleen's not there before I lean to Ashton and whisper, "Eve. I don't think I could handle her tonight." Ashton knows Kathleen's diminutive friend has always grated on my nerves – too nosy, too loud, too...everything. Understated is not in her vocabulary; and while I'm not opposed to exuberance, per se, she takes it to a level that I can only handle in small doses.

Ashton throws his head back and laughs heartily, and I can't help grinning to hear it. Any tension that remained between us evaporates as he slips back into his usual good humor. "You're in luck. Eve has a new boyfriend in Portland, and she went to visit him this weekend."

"Hey, now," Kathleen scolds mildly as she comes out onto the porch carrying a plate of what looks like taco dip. "Don't be hatin' on my girl Eve."

"Sorry, hon," Ashton offers, and the utter lack of remorse on his face earns him a wagging finger from Kathleen. She does it good-naturedly, though, and I suppose I should have known that she already knew my opinion of Eve. She has changed her clothes into a pair of comfortable shorts and a t-shirt. She slides onto Ashton's lap, her bare legs hanging over the arm of the chair.

"What about Rachel?" I ask, referring to the tall, blonde, full-figured woman who was Kathleen's maid of honor. She is very pleasant, and though she's fairly shy, I discovered when we were paired together at the wedding that she has an excellent sense of humor. She had me fighting not to crack up when she would make some sardonic, hilarious comment at the wedding. "We made a good team. Is she around this weekend?"

"She's around. She and Luke are going to join us tomorrow; Liz will be there too. We were thinking of going to Golden Gardens, if the weather's good; so far the forecast looks promising. Gareth and Lily might come as well, depending on Sarah – she's had the sniffles."

I nod in agreement. "That sounds great. And Ash was saying we're doing something with Jasper and Edward tonight?"

"I talked to Jasper about coming over for dinner tonight, but I told him I'd confirm it after I made sure it was okay with you," she replies. "I didn't want to inundate you with visitors your first night, especially if you're not looking forward to seeing people."

"Jasper and Edward are always okay with me," I grin. "I can't wait to see them."

"Excellent!" Kathleen jumps up and says, "I'm going to call Jasper right now and let him know."

After her call is made and the plans are firm, the three of us settle into an easy banter, much like we did in old times – before breakups and weddings; before a move halfway across the country; before blue-grey eyes and plush lips and agreements; when even our grown-up problems numbered few enough that we could easily handle them with humor and grace. As I sit and watch them interact with each other, I'm grateful for them – not just for myself, but that the two of them have each other. It's a pleasure to be in the presence of a perfect match.

-o-

****rubs hands gleefully** Pop quiz time! Who remembers meeting all the people we talked about in this chapter? :) Let me sum up: Eve, Liz and Rachel are Kathleen's girlfriends, whom we met in OTT Chapter 24 when Jasper went out for brunch with Kathleen and met all her friends, including Jack. Gareth and Lily were there too - Gareth, Eve's brother, looks like Jesus, Lily was pregnant...with Sarah, who eventually boogied her little socks off at Edward and Jasper's wedding. Luke is an art critic who was one of the first friends Edward made outside their regular circle after he and Jasper reconciled. As alluded to in OTT, Luke and Rachel sparked immediately; and they are now an item.**

**Thanks to ppinecone, Seattle resident extraordinaire, for her help with this chapter and the next. I haven't Google Maps'ed Seattle since I was writing OTT. It was like going down Memory Lane. :)**


	25. Chapter 25

**One of my reviewers for Chapter 24 mentioned that the chapter made her think of a Dar Williams song called "My Friends". I have to agree – it really is a perfect song to set the tone for Jack's interactions with his friends in Seattle. It's on the blog, and is even more appropriate, I think, for Chapter 25, which I now leave with you. **

-o-

_Jack_

When Edward and Jasper arrive for dinner, Jasper immediately sets the salad he's carrying on the counter and pulls me into his arms. For a long time he doesn't release me, and I find myself smirking over his shoulder at Edward, who is watching him with an indulgent half-smile. Even when Jasper releases my body, he holds my face in his hands. "Jack," he murmurs, his face filled with compassion. "I'm so glad you decided to come home after all."

"Thanks, Jay," I tell him. "I'm glad too. But remind me to talk to you later about your decision-making process when it comes to giving your assistant time off." He shrugs before to the equally unrepentant Kathleen, who raises her hand to high-five him. "You two are a force of nature," I add.

Edward steps forward to grasp my shoulder. "I'm sorry, Jack. But it's good to see you," he tells me earnestly. I thank him with just a nod and a weak smile, and a slightly awkward silence follows.

Naturally, it's broken by Kathleen, the eternal hostess. "Well, Jasper, let's get this stuff put together and we can all chat over dinner," she suggests, before turning to Ashton. "Hon, you want to start the barbecue?"

The conversation during dinner is very light, consisting mainly of catching up on the things that have been going on with our friends since I left, as well as telling them what life is like in Chicago. I mention Mike and how, despite getting off to a rocky start, he has become a good friend. Kathleen and Jasper relate the latest in their ongoing adventures with an especially obtuse individual they work with, and even I find myself joining in the laughter around the table. Several times I find one of my friends watching me, assessing – not Kathleen, because she really already knows where my head is – but particularly Edward and Jasper, and yes, Ashton too. I know there are more conversations to be had with him – with all of them – before the weekend is over; especially knowing how important it is to draw Ashton back in, reassure him that he will always be the first best friend I made as an adult.

Even after we've finished eating and Edward and Ashton have cleared the dishes – at least getting them as far as the sink – we remain sitting at the table, drinking wine and picking at a light dessert of fresh fruit. It is now that our conversation becomes serious, and I broach the subject myself. "So...I guess you're wondering what happened."

"You don't have to talk about it if you don't want to, Jack," Edward says, hastily adding, "Of course, we're here to listen if you do."

"I know you are," I tell him gratefully. "I know I haven't really been open about it...it's hard when I'm so far away...and god, I'm sick of having serious conversations over the telephone." I rub my eyes wearily, realizing the truth of my words only as they form on my lips. "Sorry; I do love you guys, and I know I haven't been a good friend to any of you since I moved."

"Well, we're all in one room now," Jasper reminds me, in a voice so soft it's almost a whisper. "Do you want to tell us?"

I look around the table at the loving and sympathetic faces of my friends, and begin. I start at the very beginning, when I met Jacey in Austin in October; meeting up with him in Chicago in January; the visit in March and Karl and the arrangement and even the fucking jade tendril. I don't tell them about bottoming because, well, there are limits; and I just don't discuss my sex life, not even with the people I'm closest to in the world. Nevertheless, I see Edward eyeing me with what I can only call a speculative look, and it reminds me of the circumstances under which he and Jasper first got together (unfortunately, not all my friends have the same filter when it comes to talking about their own sex lives. And by friends, I mean Jasper). I have observed that Edward is very astute in that way, and I can't help wondering if, knowing I'm a top, he's figured out that I bottomed for the first time and that it was for Jacey.

However, he says nothing about it, certainly knowing I wouldn't confirm or deny it; asking a question like that isn't his style, anyway.

Continuing to tell my friends about my relationship with Jacey, I move on to my trip to Austin. I notice Ashton's face darken slightly when I mention Mike. "Mike went with you to Austin?" he asks. Though he fights to keep his voice steady and casual, I can see something akin to envy in his eyes.

"No," I reply. "He got sent by his work at the last minute, for a conference. It was a complete coincidence that he was there at all, let alone the same weekend." I move on, telling them about the moments when Jacey's mood would shift, when he said as he was falling asleep that he didn't deserve me, and the night he got upset with me before we went to the club. I suppose it's odd that it's been two weeks since he left me and this is the first time I've actually talked through the whole process; I haven't even had these conversations with myself, because looking back has been so painful. Now, with the benefit of hindsight, it's all very clear: he was already involved. It doesn't matter that, in my head, I already knew this. This moment is the first time I've really allowed my heart to feel the impact - that when I was loving him in Austin, part of his heart was somewhere else.

I pour a third glass of wine, ignoring the glances my friends exchange with each other, before I tell them about the conversation I had with Jacey the next day. I can see the looks of shock on their faces as I tell them that, while Jacey was begging me to be more open with him, he was hiding an emotional involvement with someone else. Ashton's hand, resting on the table, tightens into a clench; Kathleen covers it with her own until he relaxes.

I openly admit to them my own contribution to our downfall, declining an exclusive relationship with him. I can see by their expressions they agree that I should have grabbed on with both hands when I had the chance. "But Jack," Kathleen adds, "you were honest about your reason for not wanting to be exclusive, and it was only for sex. Jacey was looking for a license to continue a physical relationship with someone to whom he was forming – or already had formed – an emotional attachment."

"I know," I nod miserably. "I wasn't honest, though, about wanting him to come to Chicago for the summer. I did want him to, but I thought it'd be too hard to let him go back to Austin when it was over. If I'd asked him to live with me for the summer, he never would have met..." I stop, suddenly sick to death of having to refer to him as "the guy". "_Fuck!_" I huff in frustration. "I don't even know his name." I rest my elbows on the surface of the table and bury my face in my hands. I hear the sound of my empty wine glass being taken away, and though I expect it to return with a refill, it is instead a glass with water that appears before me.

"And that was pretty much it till he showed up at your door a couple weeks ago, right?" Kathleen, already knowing this part, gently attempts to ease the story-telling process for me.

"Yeah," I mumble. "And then, the next day...told me he loves me, but that he's in love with another guy, that the other guy asked him to be exclusive and that he said yes. Oh, uh...that was after he'd asked me the night before to make love to him."

There is just no way to relate that that makes it sound less horrible than it is. The silence that ensues is pure shock, and in spite of everything, it makes me cringe a bit. I know the people who love me are now forming an extremely harsh opinion of Jacey, one that they might not have held if it was just a matter of a breakup. I find myself very torn about that night with Jacey, the last night I made love to him. Intellectually I know that it was wrong of him to come see me with the intention of ending our relationship, but sleep with me _before_ he told me. If he'd first told me and then asked for one last night together, I think I might have said yes, and I might not have regretted it too much later on. Then again, I might have said no outright, if I'd allowed myself to think about the fact that _we_ would be cheating on the new guy in his life. There's no way to know for sure, now, what would have happened. By not telling me the truth, he took away my choice; and I'm struggling with feeling angry with him for that, versus being glad we had one last night together and it was such a beautiful one.

My friends don't seem to face the same struggle. "He slept with you...knowing he was going to break up with you afterward...?" Jasper repeats, incredulous. I simply nod, my hands still covering my eyes.

"And told him he loved him as he was breaking up with him," Ashton adds, still stuck on this point from our earlier conversation.

Between the flight, the fact that my body is two hours ahead of everyone else, the wine and the sheer stress of trying to keep my shit together during the past two weeks, my emotional control is threadbare. I'm simply unable to hold it back anymore. Behind my hands, tears well in my eyes. When they spill over and make an appearance low on my face, my friends suddenly break out of their inertia, spontaneously moving closer to surround and comfort me. Jasper on one side, Kathleen on the other, they each put an arm over my shoulders; Ashton reaches in front of Kath to tuck a facial tissue into my hand; Edward gets up from his chair across the table and coming around to put his hand on my shoulder. In this safe atmosphere, I let the emotions wash from me as freely as I did the afternoon after Jacey left my apartment.

When the storm has passed, when I'm calm again and my friends have mostly retreated to their own places, Kathleen says quietly, "You need to talk to him."

Jasper turns to her, aghast, and is about to protest when Kathleen cuts him off. "Let me explain. When he broke up with you, he told you what he needed to say. Did you say the things you wanted to say? Did you even have time to really think, to formulate any real questions, before he was out the door?"

"No," I admit. "I asked him...about his flight, I think. I _did_ ask him if his new boyfriend knew Jacey was going to sleep with me."

"Good for you," Edward finally speaks up. "What did he say?"

I close my eyes against the unpleasantness of the memory. "He didn't, actually. He started to cry. I took that as a no."

"Fucker," Jasper exclaims. I'm not surprised at his outburst; he's an emotional guy. I am surprised – though perhaps I shouldn't be – at the reaction from my other friends.

Edward says, "Kas, don't," at the same time as Ashton murmurs, "Easy, now." Jasper looks with surprise at both of them, before Ashton explains. "You're talking about someone Jack loves," he reminds Jasper kindly.

Chastened, Jasper looks down at the table. I shoot Ashton a grateful glance before I lean into Jasper. "I understand," I whisper. "Thank you." He meets my eyes, abashed but relieved.

"Anyway," Kathleen continues, "I believe you need closure, Jackie. Maybe you're not ready to do it yet, but I think it's important – vital, even – for you to get some answers. Find out why he did it and why he didn't tell you. Learn the guy's name, for Pete's sake. You deserve that. It's the only way you'll be able to move on."

What she says makes sense, only...

"If I do that – talk to him and get closure – then it'll _really _be over," I admit helplessly.

"Yeah," is her reply; and though her tone is kind, the meaning is clear: it _is_ over.

"Or," Ashton adds, "maybe you'll find out that he regrets ending it with you, that he wants you back."

I can't even allow myself to hope that could be the case. Rather than replying to Ashton, I simply reach for my glass of water and down it in several long swallows. Setting it down, I change the subject. "You know what...it's been a long day. I'm wiped out."

"Of course, Jackie," Kath replies. "It's ten o'clock, and you're two hours ahead."

"Yeah. Plus I slept on the couch last night, because there was a woman in my bed."

"There is so much wrong with that sentence," Ashton mutters.

"Sounds like a perfectly healthy response to me." Edward grins at Jasper, extending his hand to him. "Let's go home and check our bed for women, Kas. We might have to sleep on the couch."

-o-

The next day dawns sunny and warm, as promised by the weather forecast. I have an hour or so by myself before Kathleen and Ash get up, and I spend it with a coffee and the newspaper. By the time they're up and we've all had breakfast and are ready for the day, it's close to eleven.

As Kathleen mentioned yesterday, they've planned a trip to Golden Gardens, a park on the west side of the peninsula, on Puget Sound. On a day like today – when it's actually warm and sunny – it will be busy, loaded with people taking advantage of the summer weather. The wind blows steadily there, so there are always people sailing and kite-surfing. Kite-surfing is a sport Ashton has taken up, already being a surfer. As I enjoy surfing too – having been taught by Ashton, the summer after our freshman year in college – he wants me to try kite-surfing today. I have to chuckle that the first time this summer I'll be at a beach is in Seattle, of all places - one of the rainiest places in the country.

We get to the beach around noon and find that Rachel, Luke and Liz are just taking their stuff out of the back of Luke's car. Parking near them, we pull out our cooler and beach gear, and together we walk to the beach and find a place to set up. Shortly after we have our towels and blankets spread out, claiming our patch of beach, Kath's cell phone rings. It's Lily, calling to say that they aren't going to make it till later this afternoon. They're going to wait until after Sarah's nap, then join us for dinner and the evening bonfire. Edward and Jasper will be along later as well. Edward's sister Alice has organized a charity event for the private children's services agency where she works; and they're both volunteering at it today.

The afternoon is relaxed and pleasant, with enough people in our group that I don't feel like anyone is really focused on me. I try out kite-surfing, which is a challenge; but once I get the hang of it and find myself racing across the surface of the water, I find it exhilarating. When I finally come back to the beach and flop down on my towel, my legs and arms feel like jelly. I'm in good shape, but holding them in a near-constant state of contraction for a couple hours is brutal. I'll be sore as hell tomorrow; but I've enjoyed it so much that I don't regret it at all.

As I catch my breath and let the sun's rays warm me, Rachel, beside me, sets her book aside and stretches out. Lying on her stomach as I am, her eyes are directly opposite mine, and we chuckle at each other for a moment before she opens an easy, relaxed conversation between us. Only once does she allude to my failed relationship, asking me if I'm okay. I answer her honestly – that I'm not quite, yet, but I will be – and after a sympathetic smile, she leaves it at that. I'm a little sorry we've never gotten to know each other better, because I find her so easy to be around. When her boyfriend Luke collapses on the other side of her, dripping wet, her attention is diverted; but I enjoy listening to them parry back and forth. They have similar personalities and are both in industries where creativity is vital, but their jobs have them approaching creativity from opposite directions - Luke is an art critic and Rachel is a chef. I don't know Luke well, since he started hanging around with us just last fall, when Edward and he struck up a friendship. That friendship led to him and Rachel being introduced, and it was very soon after that we became aware they were an item. I can see he and Rachel have a good relationship and both thrive on challenging each other.

By the time the rest of our friends join us, we're about to start the barbecue. Liz and I volunteer to grill the hamburgers and veggie burgers; and it gives me a chance to find out how she's doing. Liz is very low-key, the most relaxed person I've ever met outside California. She has been through a series of short-lived relationships since I've met her – and they seem to suit her very well. She doesn't do monogamy, and is open with her partners about it; and she seems to thrive in that lifestyle. I know for a fact that she's never had an acrimonious breakup; somehow her former partners all have only good things to say about her.

As we cook the food, she asks me if I went to Chicago's Pride parade; and it isn't until she mentions it that I remember that it was to take place last weekend. I didn't think of it at all. I admit to her, "I guess I wasn't feeling particularly proud about anything last weekend, Liz."

"Ours was last weekend, too, as you know," she continues after a sympathetic smile. "Rained like a son of a bitch; and half the women there weren't wearing a bra – myself included – and just a tank top or a tight t-shirt. You know their rules about no nudity; but it's not like the organizers could do anything about it – we _were_ wearing clothes." Her eyes glaze over dreamily, and she stares out over Puget Sound as she recalls the sight. "It was a _great_ fuckin' day."

I laugh out loud, and she grins broadly, not a hint of self-consciousness or sheepishness about her. "It's good to hear you laugh, Jack," she smiles, before turning to the nearby spread of blankets, where our friends have set up the rest of dinner. "Hey, everyone else is here," she adds.

"Just in time, too, because these are done," I reply, starting to lift the burgers onto a divided platter.

I greet Gareth and Lily, and try to pry a hello out of Sarah, who refuses to have anything to do with me. Later on, though, when dinner is over and we're sitting around the bonfire, she realizes which side her bread is buttered on. I've brought some vegan marshmallows to toast over the coals. Sarah has an uncanny knack for showing up beside me just as I'm about to pull the golden-brown cube-shaped confections off the skewer. Her parents don't allow her too many of them, but the fact that I've shared seems to be enough to put me in her good books – at the very least it earns me a broad smile from the little girl who has her mom's crazy array of dark curls and her dad's blue eyes.

When I'm not toasting marshmallows for the toddler set, I enjoy simply listening to my friends' conversations around the fire; I join in here and there, but mostly I relax. Far from my initial reservations that I wouldn't be much fun in a group, instead I find my spirits lifted by them. It's been months since I was among a large group of people who have more than a passing acquaintance with me, and it just feels good.

Settled back into a deep chair, I don't realize my eyes have closed until I feel a hand on my arm. "Hey, sleepyhead." I open my eyes to find Kathleen bending over me. "Looks like you're ready for bed."

"Can always count on Jack for a wild night," Rachel says dryly. "Vegan marshmallows and asleep before ten."

"Hey, I didn't see _you_ out there kite-surfing today, princess," I retort. "I imagine that trashy romance novel you were so engrossed in was top quality, too." Our repartee sets off a small flurry of teasing insults being volleyed around the group like a beach ball, and I lean over to Rachel and whisper, "Now see what you've done?"

"Yeah," she grins. "I should have brought popcorn."

-o-

Sunday is a quiet day, and Ashton and I spend it together. We don't do a great deal, as both of us are a bit sore from yesterday's kite-surfing. Kathleen is in and out of the house throughout the day and I have the sense that she's purposely letting us have 'alone time'. Here and there Ash asks me a question, things I can tell he's been working up to asking since they're of a personal nature. I find myself answering them with very little hesitation; and I realize that, for the first time in years, my relationship with Ashton is free of regret. I don't have to edit what I'm going to say to make sure I don't accidentally spill the beans on how I feel about him. The effortless quality of our friendship has returned; and any weirdness that could have lingered after our serious talk the other night, hasn't, to my very great relief.

We watch a baseball game in the afternoon – Red Sox at the Mariners – then the three of us go out for dinner at a restaurant at Pike's Place. After dinner, since we aren't far from the main ferry terminal, Kathleen suggests a ride over to Bainbridge Island and back. Since the evening is beautiful and warm, it's a perfect idea. I didn't often have to use the ferries when I lived here, but the view of the city skyline is beautiful, especially looking back at the lights at night.

It's a good day, and I do enjoy spending it with my friends. But that night, when I've gone to bed and the house is dark and quiet, I can no longer ignore the feelings of regret I've been trying to repress since I arrived here. No matter what I do – having dinner out or being at the beach or riding the ferry or just hanging out at Ashton and Kathleen's place – there's always, in the back of my mind, the knowledge that Jacey should have been here for this. I thought I'd be showing him all the things I love about Seattle; I thought he'd be meeting my friends and, I hoped, forming the basis for lifelong friendships with them. Before the breakup I let myself imagine these things; I could see them so clearly.

As I toss and turn, I consider Kathleen's suggestion about getting in touch with Jacey. I want to – I'm almost desperate to talk to him, in fact – but I'm so torn. Should I let him see how devastated I've been? If I let him see it, would it change anything? And if, as Ashton suggested, Jacey did decide he wanted me back...do I want _him_ back?

The fact is, I am not just sad, and I'm not just missing Jacey and grieving for our relationship. I'm _hurt_. I'm angry, too, but mostly hurt. Jacey betrayed me. He made a major omission when he told me he'd slept with someone from camp, because he was also developing feelings for that person. In combination with his pleas for me to be open with him, omitting the truth of his other relationship became a blatant lie. I can't believe he embarked upon that dalliance with the intent to fall in love; he's still Jacey, and everything I've knew about Jacey until he broke up with me tells me that he is something who would always have the best intentions. All the same, I can't ignore how badly he dealt with it, not talking to me about it at all until it was a crisis, one that he decided had to spell the end of our relationship.

I love him; but to use his own words, _Is love enough? Isn't a relationship more than just love?_ I'm new to relationships and even I know that's true. A relationship can't sustain itself without complete trust, and the trust I had in Jacey was shattered along with my heart. If he told me tomorrow that things were over with _the guy_, my heart's instinct would be to wrap him up in my arms gratefully. In my head, though, I know it'd be a mistake to simply allow him to return to his former place in my heart, no questions asked.

My thoughts chase themselves round and round my brain for an hour or more. Even as I consider it, all the while I know this: although it's good to prepare myself to respond to whatever might come up in a conversation with Jacey, the entire line of thinking is likely pointless. He made his choice; I have no reason to think he has reconsidered. I'm most likely to find awkwardness and a reluctance to talk to me, as I intrude on his new life. I'll probably have to persevere in asking my questions; in fact, I will need to write them down beforehand, in case I become flustered once I start to talk to him. No matter what his reaction, though, I recognize the wisdom in Kathleen's advice: if I don't do this, I'll drive myself nuts obsessing about it.

My decision made, the next step is to set a deadline to call him; if I don't, I'll procrastinate endlessly. I know he's off this weekend; if he's kept the same schedule he arranged for our trip, he doesn't have to return to camp till Tuesday night – he was to have flown back to Austin Tuesday morning if he was here with me. Tuesday is too soon for me, though; I believe my flight back to Chicago would be a good period of quiet and relative solitude during which I can think about what I want to say to him. He'll be at camp for for the next week and a half; but now that I know he has had at least enough time in the evenings to, you know, _fall in love_, I'm less inclined to believe that he wouldn't be able to talk to me some evening. I'll send him an email Wednesday night with a request to call me when he has a few hours' break – he must get one once in a while. It wouldn't hurt, I reflect, to tell him why I want to talk to him: that I have a few things I need to say; to get closure; that I deserve that much. Appealing to the conscience I know he has, should at least get him to call me.

By the time I've worked through it enough to be able to let my mind rest, it's after midnight. Fortunately, tomorrow is the Fourth of July and the biggest thing on my agenda is the Cullens' barbecue, followed by fireworks. I'm looking forward to the nighttime display; and I do _not_ drift off to sleep thinking of how I'd pictured kissing Jacey till the light that danced before his eyes rivalled the dazzling eruptions in the skies overhead.

No, I do not.


	26. Chapter 26

**I know the last few chapters have been HEAVY. It's time to switch things up a bit; we're going to check in with Mike now, going back to Memorial Day weekend and that boy he met on the street in Austin. **

-o-

_Mike_

When I meet up with Jack and Jacey on the sidewalk in front of Charlie's, I can tell immediately something's bothering Jack. His usual confidence is nowhere to be seen. Somehow he seems even physically smaller than he usually does. When he immediately steps into my arms for a hug – something we really don't do often – it confirms my suspicions. Maybe things aren't going as well here as they seem. I ask him quietly if he's okay; but he puts me off. I figure he'll tell me later if there's something he wants to talk about.

Inside, we stand at a table with our drinks; eventually my concerns are alleviated somewhat. I chat with Jacey, but keep an eye on Jack. He barely says a word, sipping his drink and listening to our conversation; gradually he emerges from his funk, and when I return to them after getting another round of drinks, he and Jacey are practically crawling down each other's throats. Whatever was bothering him, either it had nothing to do with Jacey, or else it has passed now.

We have a lot of fun out on the dance floor. I don't mind the country music songs, and Jacey seems so used to them that he doesn't even comment; but it's obvious to me that Jack hates them. I can't help thinking to myself that if Jack and Jacey are serious, and if they end up living together here in Austin, Jack's going to have to learn to at least tolerate country music, in self-defense. The thought of him living here, maybe even developing a mild Texas accent as a result, makes me chuckle a little.

I notice a few guys at the club eyeing me, but none of them approach – which is fine with me because they all look like bottoms. When Jacey's friend suggests we go to another bar, one closer to my hotel, I'm all for it. I've been sort of hoping that I might hook up while I'm here, but it's not like I've really put myself out there till now. Maybe this other club will have some more aggressive tops.

Oilcan's may very well have guys who'd suit me better – I don't get the chance to find out. Standing on the sidewalk outside, my eyes alight on a familiar figure, one I've looked for so many times over the last five or six months in Chicago. I'm in mid-sentence, and immediately every thought in my head is replaced by a single question. _Is that him?_

He's standing in a group, as I am, talking and laughing with his friends. He's even more beautiful than my memory captured. His hair is glossy, reflecting the colorful lights that line this busy street. Even from twenty feet away his delicate features are stunning. He's wearing a tight t-shirt and his body is lean and lithe. It _has_ to be him.

Jack's voice sharply saying my name startles me from my reverie. "Sorry," I tell him, realizing he must have spoken several times. "I thought..." I look back at the group and shake my head. "Hang on," I tell them. "Just...wait here, I'll be back." I step away, leaving Jack and Jacey waiting on the sidewalk as I approach the group slowly.

The instant his eyes meet mine, it's obvious he recognizes me. His eyes widen and his jaw drops. The rest of the group turn toward me, and a very quick glance tells me they're curious. It's not up to me to answer their questions – I only care about him.

He steps toward me, and god, his face is just gorgeous. His dark eyes are ringed with a fringe of black eyelashes...I'd begun to think I wouldn't see them again. He takes my arm and we step several feet away from his friends. "Hi," he breathes in wonder. "It's _you_."

I grin. "I was just thinking the same thing," I reply slowly. "Nicolas."

"Michael," he returns, a tiny smile on his lips. "You're _here_, in Austin."

"I'm visiting." I'm so stunned I barely know what I'm saying. "I've...I was hoping I'd run into you again sometime, but I guess I was looking in the wrong city."

His eyes light up. "Where are you staying?" he asks suddenly, stepping forward to take my hand.

The attraction between us crackles as strongly as it did that night in Chicago. "Just down the street, actually. The Hilton. Are you...would you like to...that is, if you're free..." I stumble over the words until I decide I don't care how I sound – I've been hoping for this for too long, to just let it go now. "Come to my hotel with me," I tell him earnestly.

His eyes flicker to my lips before he breathes in sharply. "Let me say goodbye to my friends," he murmurs.

I nod. "I have to do the same thing." I gesture to where Jack and Jacey stand on the sidewalk, slowly kissing.

Their reaction is one of surprise and some amusement. Jack teases me about working quickly; he has no idea I've been waiting for this for six months. I give them a quick hug and kiss goodbye, and then rejoin Nicolas.

As we walk east toward the hotel, I can't help asking him how he came to be here this weekend.

"My parents moved here a few years ago," he replies. "I stayed in Chicago with my brother, to finish my undergrad and do my master's degree. When you and I were...uh, together..." I smile a little to myself as he stumbles over the words. "...I was actually just about ready to move here."

"You said the house was yours," I press.

"It is; or rather, it was," he replies. "My brother and I owned it together. He bought me out when he got married last fall. I stayed in it while he and his wife went overseas for the first term – she was doing her masters in architecture and they lived in Europe for the term – and when they came back, I came here to work."

"I've been looking for you..." I murmur. "I know that probably sounds weird...but I have. I kept hoping I'd run into you at one of the clubs."

"If you're weird, I am too," he replies. "I've got a trip coming up to Chicago in two weeks. I was hoping I'd find you in the clubs, too. I've wished I knew your last name...I'd have called you."

We're quiet as we walk through the hotel's lobby and ride up the elevator. In my room, I admit something further.

"I drove past your house once, a few months ago," I tell him. "I saw a woman gardening out front. I figured you'd moved. I thought that was it; I thought I wouldn't see you again unless I happened to run into you somewhere."

"And here we are," he says softly. "A thousand miles away, and we ran into each other on 4th Street. What an amazing coincidence." He gently presses me against the wall, his hand stroking my short blonde hair as his nearly-black eyes smolder.

"I don't believe in coincidence," I whisper, sliding my hands down his back to tentatively cup his ass. His eyes flutter closed and he hums, barely audible. I lean in to press my lips gently to his beautiful mouth. He immediately responds, meeting my chaste kisses until bringing his tongue out to trace my lips. I open to him and groan as his tongue finds its way inside.

Eventually he draws me away from the wall. We kick off our shoes and climb onto the bed, where we continue to make out. After a while...minutes? Hours?...he breaks our kiss abruptly, pulling back a few inches to look into my eyes.

"Kouris," he whispers breathlessly, with a hint of Greek inflection as he says the name. "My name is Nicolas Kouris."

My heart blooms in my chest, feeling like it might climb its way out through my throat. "Mike Newton," I manage to reply.

"Newton," he repeats, his eyes half-closed with a look of relief – like he's finally found the answer he's searched _forever_ for. "It's nice to finally meet you, Michael Newton." His lips find mine again, and I swear I could fly when he kisses me.

Nothing about this night is hurried, despite how much we've been hoping to find each other again. We shed our clothes gradually, one item after another hitting the floor until we're naked. Our bodies are tense, attuned to each other, anticipating and craving; welcoming each caress, every swipe of a tongue, every look. Nicolas goes down on me, and the feeling of being inside his hot, wet mouth is indescribable. He goes slowly, his tongue seeking out the places that make my hips twitch and my toes curl. He brings me near the edge twice; both times he backs off. "Not yet," he whispers, his shoulders shaking with chuckles when I groan pitifully.

After the second time, I insist that he allow me to return the not-quite favor. He replies by rolling onto his back, pulling me on top of him. He kisses me deeply, and I begin to wonder if he's going to let me suck him. When I start to frot against him, sliding my cock against his, he gasps, gripping my hips. He stills them briefly, but then he pulls me tighter, groaning as I slide against him again. "Ohhh," he moans. "Fuck...Michael...you're so good at that..."

"Let me show you what else I'm good at," I urge, and finally he capitulates, releasing my hips. I slide down his body and immediately engulf his beautiful slender cock in my mouth. His groin is bare, shaved clean; there is no bed of curls at the base when I take his length down my throat. I glide my fingertips over the area, enjoying the feel of his smooth skin.

I pay close attention, watching his signals; because there's no way I want him to come yet. He groans when I release him from my mouth. "No," I tell him. "I want you inside me, Nicolas. This gorgeous hard cock – I want to feel it fill me up. Now. _Please_." He pulls me up towards him, his tongue immediately sliding past my lips and exploring my mouth yet again. He rolls us, placing me on my back beneath him.

"You're so beautiful," he whispers, stroking my cheek as he gazes into my eyes. "I want you too." He climbs off me and picks up his pants off the floor; reaching into the pocket, he pulls out a condom and a small sample-sized tube of lubricant. He returns to me quickly, sheathing his cock and lubing us both. "Do you need my fingers first?" he asks.

"No. Just go slow."

He nods and lifts my legs, resting them on his shoulders. I am open and exposed, ready to be taken and filled by him. He looks directly into my eyes as he takes his cock in one hand and places it against my ass. "Are you ready, Michael?" he whispers. I only nod in reply, too full of anticipation to speak.

He starts to press into me, slick and hot, opening and stretching me. I gasp when the head of his cock slips past the breach, and he pauses, searching my eyes. I take a few deep breaths, relaxing my body, and nod at him. He leans down, pressing a kiss to my chest and to my lips before sinking a bit deeper inside me. He distracts me with kisses all over my face, neck and shoulders, inching a bit further with each until his smooth groin presses against my skin. He holds his upper body with his arms, closes his eyes and sighs with pleasure, relaxing his hips into my body. I can't help grinning.

He looks down to see my smile and returns it, leaning down for another slow kiss on the lips. "Come here," I mumble, pulling his body down against mine. He relaxes onto me and hooks his hands under my shoulders; and then he starts to thrust. It's slow, deep and so fucking intense, his face a fraction of an inch from mine. His eyes – fuck, they're so dark I can't see that there's any brown in them at all – they just look black to me. They're so wide and beautiful I could fall into them, and they are holding me captive, never straying from my gaze for a second. I thread my hands through his shaggy black hair, twisting it around my fingers, tugging slightly at the nape of his neck when he pulls out. All the while, my cock is trapped between us, sliding with our sweat-slicked bodies.

He shifts his hips slightly against mine, and suddenly he finds the spot deep within that makes me feel like the world has caught fire. A needy cry escapes me, and soon every thrust grazes that place, every glide of his body against mine has me hurtling inescapably toward release. My hands scrabble ineffectually against his back – seeking what, I don't know; maybe just a place to anchor myself before I fly into pieces. Only a few more thrusts will see me over the edge...and then Nicolas moans that he's so close...and I push against him...and _ohmygodohmygod_ we're holding on tight and falling apart and thrashing together as we're buffeted by relentless surges of euphoria...crying each other's names and _ohfuckNicolas_...and it's so fucking good, even when it starts to give way to little aftershocks, gently rocking waves that bring us down easy...even when he no longer resides inside my body and we're just two people joined at the lips and arms and chest, panting for breath and being so fucking grateful for this night...falling asleep nestled against each other.

-o-

In the morning there is no awkwardness when we wake up; still snuggled together, he's spooning me now, his long lean body fitting perfectly into my more muscular lines. When I regain consciousness he's already awake, nuzzling my ear and gliding his fingertips lightly down my arm. His cock is hard, nestled against the crack of my ass...I reach to the night table where I have my own condoms, and wordlessly hand one to him. He chuckles into my neck, but he sure as hell doesn't turn it down, opening the packet and quickly putting it on. "Lube," he whispers, and though I'd love to be able to skip it, I know he's right. I grab the tube and he doesn't waste time, slicking us both; and then he's just slipping so easily into me, and it's so good when he wraps one arm over my shoulders, across my collarbone, and the other around my ribcage and pushes _so deep_. It's hard and fast and neither of us last long, especially when the hand on my ribs reaches down and begins to stroke my cock. I shudder against him as he milks me of my jizz; when he comes inside my ass, his teeth sink into my shoulder.

How I would love to just stay here, in this bed, in his arms, indefinitely. He doesn't seem too interested in releasing me, either. I turn to face him, resting my head on his chest. I honestly can't believe we're together, to begin with, but more than that...I so do not want to let him go. And the thought of falling again...so quickly, with someone I don't know at all...absolutely terrifies me.

"_What_ is happening here?" I wonder out loud.

"This time yesterday I didn't know your last name," he muses.

"And now?" I prompt.

"And now I don't want to let you leave this bed...let alone leave the city," he whispers. "Is that crazy?" I lift my head to look at him, wondering if he's teasing me; but his expression is completely open and earnest, his dark eyes softened by his admission. "You said last night you don't believe in coincidence," he adds. "Maybe we found each other last night because we were _supposed_ to."

"Maybe," I shrug, but I hesitate to add that I want to see him again. Faced with the possibility of moving beyond just a fuck, into the possibility of something more; I don't know if I could handle it if I got in deep again and it went to shit, like things did with Ethan.

My reply isn't exactly encouraging, and he hesitates before tentatively continuing. "I'm going to be in Chicago in two weeks. Can I see you when I visit?"

I _want_ to – everything is telling me I should just say yes. _He is not Ethan,_ I remind myself. _Don't let one bad experience color everything that happens from now on._ "Yes," I finally reply. "I'd really like to see you again."

-o-

Before I leave, we exchange contact information, and over the next two weeks we email a lot – once a day at first, then multiple times a day as the days go by; and we talk on the phone several times. Jack asks me about my 'hookup' once we're both back in Chicago; but I brush it off, at least for now. After I see Nicolas again in a few weeks, if things still seem okay, I'll tell him then; until then I want to keep my cards close to my chest. Every once in a while I get a wave of nerves in the pit of my stomach, worrying about trouble on the horizon; but I manage to talk myself out of moments of panic, keeping my perspective. I know there's nothing I've seen in Nicolas to give me pause. My instincts about him are that he is genuine, kind, and quite seriously interested in me.

For one thing, he is very open. There isn't a single question I ask him that makes him uncomfortable; he answers me immediately and unreservedly. He has a Master of Science degree in Biology from Loyola, where he also got his bachelor's degree; and now works at University Medical Centre in Austin. He's going on twenty-seven, older than I thought he was the first night I saw him.

During one nighttime phone conversation he tells me about his family – his parents Gus and Athena, his brother Leo ("short for Leonidas but please don't tell him I told you that," Nicolas laughs), who is four years older than him, and Leo's wife Sally. When I remark that Sally doesn't sound like a Greek name, he chuckles. "Nope," he says cheerfully. "That movie, _My Big Fat Greek Wedding?_ That was totally their wedding. Except my parents didn't care that Leo was marrying _xenos._ And Sally's parents aren't nearly that stiff. They jumped right into the family with both feet. We baptized them with ouzo."

Everything he tells me gives me the strong impression that he's not easily scared off. When he writes in one email about his coming-out experience, I can't help but thinking of him as a bit of a superhero. He knew at fourteen, and told his parents very early on...and they were _not_ happy. His mother cried every time she looked at him. His father didn't speak to him for a week. Nicolas knew what he was, though, and refused to say he wasn't. Only Leo supported him, in defiance of their parents. Just a week after he told them, Nicolas had a serious accident; he was hit by a car while riding his bicycle. _It was all very 'afterschool special'_, he writes. _My parents realized I could have died, and decided it didn't matter what I was; I would still be their son regardless. They don't belong to PFLAG or anything; but they support me, and I think they've actually spoken up in the Greek community a few times when the "gay" subject comes up._

_Are you ever angry with them for the way they reacted in the first place? _I write back.

_Nah. They had never considered the possibility before and they were shocked. They didn't know any gay people and they believed a lot of the stereotypes. They didn't understand why I thought I was gay. It was just lack of education, and fear. They know better now. _

I'm impressed, and I tell him so when I write back to tell him about my own experience. I was in college when I came out, and it was difficult enough then, as an adult, to tell my parents the truth; I can't imagine what it was like as a young teen. My parents had a similar reaction to me coming out, and overall it took them longer to come around – I didn't have a near-death experience to speed up the process. My mom was the first one to call me; that only took about ten days. My dad took longer, closer to two months, even in spite of me trying to call him and my mom pleading my case at home; and even then, things were very stilted between us.

It was a long time before I felt he and I were truly back to the relationship we'd had before I came out. The day I was called to the bar, he shook my hand and then pulled me in for a hug. "I love you, son. I'm proud of you and who you've become. I'm sorry I've let things get in the way of showing it." I knew then that he finally had come to love and accept all of me.

However, as I confess to Nicolas when I'm writing about it, I still harbor some resentment toward Dad that, for several years, we couldn't have the easy relationship we'd always shared, the friendship I'd come to enjoy with him when I reached adulthood. Times when I would have leaned on him, would have sought and gladly accepted his advice, I didn't feel I could go to him.

I haven't told him of my resentment; since the day he told me he was proud of me our relationship has been excellent, both at work and in our family life. I haven't told anyone, actually; not my mom; not Ethan when I was with him; and not Jack since we became friends. But I find myself telling Nicolas without hesitation. His reply contains no judgment, only support and empathy.

A few days before he's due to come to Chicago, we make plans to go out for dinner on Saturday night – a real date. "Are you sure dinner is okay?" I ask him. "Won't your brother or you friends be upset?"

"They'll understand," he says, a smile in his voice, adding, "or they'll get over it. Either way."

-o-

On Saturday evening I meet him at the restaurant, an Italian place called Angelina. I've been here for brunch many times and occasionally for dinner. When we were making our plans earlier this week and I suggested this restaurant to Nicolas, he knew exactly where I meant, having been here for brunch often enough himself. They have decent food and though it'll likely be noisy enough that it won't be exactly relaxing, we'll be able to talk without being overheard.

I walk to the restaurant from my house. It's almost a twenty-minute walk; but it's a beautiful evening, and since we made this date I've been imagining walking hand-in-hand back to my house with Nicolas after dinner. Yes, I'm assuming he's going to come home with me. I know when we parted in Austin we said we weren't going to get too serious right away; but we have burned up the phone lines since then, and talked about so much. My heart thumps in my chest at the thought of being with him again.

By the time I'm crossing Broadway near Angelina, I'm so excited and nervous I feel like I could run a mile without breaking a sweat, solely on adrenaline. I catch sight of Nicolas waiting for me on the street in front of the restaurant. He's wearing deep blue slacks and a slim white v-neck shirt, and he looks so fucking sexy. He sees me at the same time and breaks into a wide smile. Again my heart pounds to see him; I didn't know how much I missed him until this very moment. He starts toward me, closing the distance between us twice as fast, and catching me in his arms. He kisses me immediately, not greeting me until he has released my lips and pulled me into a warm embrace.

"Hi," he murmurs into my ear.

"Hi," I reply breathlessly.

He kisses me again before releasing me from his arms; but catches both my hands in his, not letting go as we stand and gaze at each other for a moment. "It's so good to see you," I tell him. "You look gorgeous."

He smiles his brilliant, open smile. "You look good enough to eat." He releases one of my hands, reaching up to make a faux-adjustment to my collar. The gesture is mildly possessive, and it sends a little thrill through me. He strokes my cheek with one thumb before asking, "Shall we?"

Dinner is exactly as we expected. The food is good enough; the service is great; and the atmosphere is such that we can have a conversation that every person around us doesn't hear, despite the close quarters in the small interior. After dinner, though, when we step out into the refreshing evening breeze, and he reaches without hesitation to take my hand – that's when the best part of the night begins for me. He makes no secret of the fact that he is glad to be in Chicago in general and with me in particular. We're only two blocks from the lake here, and with the evening as beautiful as it is, we decide to head east first, for a stroll along the lake.

It's now getting close to ten o'clock. The sun has set behind the buildings of the city behind us, and the moon is rising over Lake Michigan in front of us. The lights surrounding Belmont Harbor are on, and we slowly stroll down to the tip of the little peninsula. No longer hand in hand – Nicolas slides his arm around my shoulders and holds me close as we walk. When we reach the end and sit on the concrete steps looking toward downtown, he pulls me closer still; and I rest my head on his shoulder. We sit quietly, looking at the city lights and at the moon shimmering on the rippling lake.

I feel perfectly content and just...happy. He makes me feel like there's simply nowhere else in the world he would rather be than holding me here in Lincoln Park. He kisses the top of my head, and I lift my face to his. We make out gently, slowly savoring the taste and feel of each other. Finally he whispers, "Can I take you home?" I nod, my breath catching in my throat. We walk back up as far as Lake Shore Drive, where he hails a cab, murmuring to me that he's far too impatient to walk back to my place. Since I've already had my walking-hand-in-hand fantasy fulfilled...and since I can't wait to get him naked...I don't protest at all.

The cab ride is very quick, and by the time I'm unlocking my front door, he's standing close behind me, reaching around to sink his hands into the front pockets of my pants, caressing my already-hardening cock. A fleeting thought crosses my mind, that I'm glad I didn't leave the porch light on tonight.

"I can't believe I'm only asking you this now," Nicolas mutters, "but do you live alone?"

I laugh out loud. "Yes," I assure him, ushering him inside. The lamp on the front hall table is on, and I give him a brief tour of the downstairs. Well – not a tour, so much, since we can see most of the downstairs from the front hall. I point in the general direction of the various rooms. "Off here is the living room; down the hall is the kitchen. It's an eat-in so it's pretty much the whole back of the house. There's a powder room and a laundry room off the kitchen." He nods politely; but I know his real interest, like mine, is not to be found on the ground floor. "If we go up the stairs..." I lead him up and at the top I point out the bathroom and my spare bedroom/office.

Finally, taking both his hands in mine, I back slowly into my bedroom, drawing him in with me. "And this is where I hide out from the world," I finish. He smiles softly, and I release one of his hands to turn on a small lamp on my dresser. Though the rest of the house is decorated to reflect the city and stay true to the era in which the house was built, I decorated this room solely for my own taste. It's decorated in cream and chocolate brown, with light walls and dark wood, various textures and a few punches of color. It's rich and warm, and very masculine – I love it.

Nicolas looks around approvingly. "It suits you," he smiles softly.

Feeling suddenly emboldened, I reply, "You suit me." It's not a strong statement, exactly; but it's the most declarative statement I've made since we met. Every time I talk to him, every time I read one of his emails, I feel drawn closer to him, more reassured of his integrity and sincerity. He has been so candid with me; and yet even in his very frank discussion of sensitive topics I have found nothing to offend or repel. Instead I've found a kindred spirit, someone intelligent, kind and funny; so loving; and yes, incredibly hot.

His eyes immediately fasten themselves to mine; and I can see that he is mildly surprised by my statement, but it's apparent he is also extremely gratified by it. "Michael," he says, his deep voice soft and welcoming as he draws me into his arms. He kisses me, murmuring my name several more times, and the attraction that has always been present between us begins to take over.

My last thought of a practical matter, before I'm caught up in our passion, is that tomorrow I intend to tell him why I've hesitated, about Ethan and the hurt of my last real relationship. I haven't talked to him about it before now. It's a heavy topic and I've been unsure if it was too soon to start cataloguing all my baggage for him. Now, I think it's fair to be honest with him about where I'm coming from.

We make love for hours, climaxing together and separately and resting between times, until the early hours of the morning. When we're too exhausted to go on, Nicolas wraps himself around me, spooning me as he did the last time we spent the night together.

-o-

As I promised myself, I tell him over breakfast about my last relationship and the damage it did to me; how for months it affected my ability to trust and my entire attitude towards people in general. He listens wordlessly, holding my hands across the kitchen table, his face portraying utter empathy. "I'm still not completely solid where trust is concerned," I tell him honestly, "and as much as it pains me to say it, since I've been getting closer to you, sometimes I get worried. What frustrates me, what I absolutely _hate,_ is that it has nothing to do with you. _You_ have never given me a reason not to trust you – not even once. It's the echoes of what happened with him...I remember his omissions and all those times I didn't know what was going on and...I panic a little."

"Of course you do," he finally says, his face etched with compassion. "I can't imagine what it must be like to try to start building trust with someone new after your trust has been so violated." He looks at the table for a long moment, his face sad. "So...what does this mean for us? Is this...are we moving too fast? Is that what you're saying?"

"No," I muse, "I don't think I am. I mean...I don't think we _are_ moving too fast. I don't want us to slow down; I just don't want us to...speed up?" I rub my face in frustration. "I don't know what the fuck I'm trying to say," I grouse.

"Michael," he says soothingly, "it's okay. Maybe it's too early for us to define it in those terms anyway. I'm glad you told me. Hey – that's trust, right?" he adds encouragingly. I manage a smile and he moves around into the chair beside mine, slipping an arm around my shoulder. "Thank you for being honest with me," he tells me.

"Thank you for not running away screaming," I reply, leaning my head on his shoulder.

"Run away screaming because someone else was stupid enough to disrespect you and let you go?" he scoffs. "Not likely. That's _his_ loss – I'm not about to make it mine." My heart swells a little with his statement and he adds, "Will you do something for me? Next time you're feeling freaked out or something's bothering you, will you tell me about it? Please?" I lift my head to look at him and his expression is so open, so guileless, that I immediately agree.

After we shower and dress, he insists that I come to his brother's house, where he's staying. I would have driven him home anyway, of course, but he wants me to meet his brother and sister-in-law. Maybe I should feel a little overwhelmed, but I don't. If anything it's an opportunity to see for myself that what he's told me about his family is true. Leo is practically Nicolas' twin, despite being older. He and Sally both welcome me warmly, even if they seem a bit surprised at first that Nicolas has brought me to meet them. The morning flies past and they prevail upon me to stay and have lunch with them.

When Nicolas walks me out to my car after lunch, he suggests something to me. "You might want to take some time to think about it," he cautions, "and that's okay; and you may say no, and that's fine too. But...well, I wanted to invite you to come to Austin for the Fourth of July weekend. It's my first summer in Austin; my parents have already been there a few years and they've gone to this one fourth of July celebration each year since they moved there, with fireworks and all that. It's supposed to be pretty great and...well, I would love to kiss you under those fireworks." He smiles and gives me a sheepish little shrug, as though he can't help himself. "So...don't answer right away, okay? Just, please give it some thought; and between now and then, we'll talk."

"Often," I add. I lean in for a final soft kiss, running my hands through those masses of thick black hair one last time, before releasing him. I get into my car and roll down the windows. He stands on the sidewalk at the passenger's side window; and I can see his hesitance to step back, let me drive away. "Call me when you get home," I tell him, and he doesn't reply, just makes a gesture to indicate an X over his heart.

-o-

The next weekend I have plans to go to a baseball game with Jack. I've decided it's time to confide in him about my developing relationship with Nicolas, now that I have a better sense of where we are and the possibilities we're both hoping for. I figure the game will be a good time to tell him about it.

Jack lets me know early on in the week that he's not planning to meet up for our usual Friday night game of basketball; he's expecting that he'll hear from Jacey that night since it'll be Jacey's weekend off. "Do _not_ call me Friday night," he warns me, with the good-natured grin that has been on his face practically non-stop since he got back from Austin a few weeks ago. He has confessed to me that he's in love with Jacey – like I didn't already figure that out when Jacey was here for spring break, but I react appropriately when Jack tells me, replying that I'm thrilled for them both. I know this is a huge deal for Jack, after the years of carrying feelings for his good friend.

I expect to hear from Jack Saturday morning; by the time noon rolls around and he hasn't called, I'd better give him a call to find out if he wants me to pick him up for the game this afternoon. He answers and at first I'm not sure it's him – he sounds hoarse and absolutely awful. I assume he has come down with a cold or flu and he doesn't correct me; so I tell him not to worry about the game and to just stay home and rest. I decide to blow off the game myself – wouldn't be much fun to go alone anyway – and I pick up some of that soup he likes from the vegetarian diner at the end of his block.

Assuming he'll be asleep, I let myself into his apartment with the key he gave me for emergencies, setting the bag with his lunch on his dining room table. I turn to head to his bedroom but I realize he's resting on his stomach on the couch. Kneeling beside him, I am horrified at what I find. Jack, my strong, stoic friend Jack, in tears. Immediately I assume he must be in some sort of pain and I rack my brain for something that could come on quickly – appendicitis? Gall bladder? Kidney stones?

Instead I find, to my shock, that Jacey has ended things with Jack – not just ended them, but left Jack for someone else. In addition to this bringing back all the feelings from my own breakup, I can see that Jack is absolutely devastated – and I am just furious with Jacey. _Aren't there any decent guys left in this world? _I think to myself bitterly, as I listen to Jack tell me about Jacey choosing someone "local" over him, even defending him for the choice he made. I tell Jack how angry I am with Jacey, though it's not even one tenth of what I'd like to say. Knowing that Jack isn't yet really to be pissed off at Jacey, I leave it at that, silently promising to be available to him when he's ready to rage. I also decide, obviously, not to tell him about Nicolas yet – I want to give him time to recover first.

I end up spending the weekend there, sometimes taking care of Jack but mostly hanging out so he doesn't have to be alone. He does well – better than I did when I was in the same situation – but breaks down a few times. When I leave Sunday night I make him promise to call me during the week. I know he has also told his mom, too; and it's a comfort to me to know he has the support of her and his brothers as well.

-o-

As much as I try not to let it, Jack's situation rattles me. When I get home Sunday night and find I have a message from Nicolas, my stomach clenches and my legs feel weak. I sit on my bed with the cordless phone in my hands, staring at it for long moments. Another great person opening himself up to love, another cheating partner...

But..._Next_ _time you're feeling freaked out or something's bothering you, will you tell me about it? Please?_ With trembling fingers I dial Nicolas' number. He answers, sounding thrilled to hear from me as always. His message is from yesterday and he's been a little concerned since I haven't called him back till now. I tell him why I haven't been home, about what happened to Jack and that I've been taking care of him this weekend. Nicolas has heard a lot about Jack from me since he saw the two of them on the street outside Oilcan's in Austin, and he knows we're tight. When I tell him about the breakup, he empathizes with Jack; but somehow he also immediately senses where my mind has gone as a result.

"Michael, how are _you_ doing with this?" he asks gently.

I didn't expect him to approach it so directly; but since he has opened the subject I'm not going to pretend I'm fine. "Uh..." I begin nervously. "I know it doesn't have anything to do with us...and yet I'm...well, I'm feeling freaked out." My heart is in my throat, so nervous that he's going to take this as a reflection upon _him_. "You said I should tell you when I having a moment of panic..." I finish lamely.

"I'm glad you told me," he says, his deep voice so reassuring and warm. "It must be difficult enough for you to see your friend go through this heartbreak, without it bringing up painful memories for you too." He says exactly the right thing; and I love that he doesn't say something that would sound like a defense, because he has nothing against which he _needs_ to defend himself. He just knows, instinctively, what I need to hear, especially when he adds, "I wish I could be there right now to hold you, soothe away your tremors."

"H-how do you know I have tremors?" I stumble.

"I don't know," he replies. "I just do." Somehow, hearing that helps ease the anxiety I've been feeling, almost as if he actually was here holding me. _He gets me. _Even better, he seems to like what he sees.

I draw a breath, blow away the last of my tension, and take a leap. "So...about Independence Day...is your offer still good?"

-o-

The next two weeks fly past. I check in on Jack a lot, and we hang out several times, watching the Cubs or just talking. I keep giving him gentle encouragement to follow through on his original plans to go to Seattle for the Fourth; I know being with his group of loved friends would be a balm for his crumpled soul. I do allude to being away that weekend myself; but he seems to assume I'm going to my parents' cabin in the Wisconsin Dells, and I don't correct him. I know I _have_ to tell him, soon – I don't want him to think I've been purposely keeping this a secret, and I definitely don't want him to find out by accident.

To my relief, he ends up going to Seattle after all, despite initially telling his friends there he's not going. His best friend's wife comes to Chicago on short notice, with the express intention of collecting him. In my head I picture a tiny woman physically wrangling Jack onto a plane – perhaps involving the pinching of an earlobe – and I can't help laughing even while I'm still on the phone with Jack. I'm very glad for his trip – I'm glad he'll have his friends around him this weekend, and if Kathleen is any indication, they'll lovebomb him while he's there. Everyone needs that once in a while.

For my part, I head off to Austin on Friday afternoon, and the weekend I have with Nicolas is about as close to perfect as I could hope. I stay at his house, a tiny place north of the university campus. He got some money when his brother bought him out of his share of the house in Chicago, and used it to put a downpayment on this place. It's exactly right for him, the perfect size for a single person, and in a nice neighborhood. It becomes our cocoon for the weekend; though we do venture out a few times, the humidity is awful – and since he didn't grow up here, I get a lot more sympathy from him on the humidity than I did from Jacey when I was here in May – so we stay in the air conditioning a lot. Somehow we manage to find some activities to keep us entertained while we're indoors.

Monday is Independence Day, and my last day in Austin. Nicolas' parents, Gus and Athena, invite us to their house for a barbecue, just the four of us. They are just as gracious and welcoming as Leo and Sally were; though it's obvious they're not surprised by Nicolas bringing me to meet them. After dinner the four of us go to the fireworks celebration Nicolas told me about. It's a free show held by the Austin Symphony every year on the fourth, outside the Long Centre for the Performing Arts.

People have brought their picnic blankets and folding chairs. Gus and Athena have folding chairs and we spread our blanket out beside them. The music begins around 8:30 and the four of us sit and listen, chatting with each other and just enjoying the evening. As it gets dark Nicolas tells his parents he wants to watch the fireworks from closer to the water, which has them exchanging a knowing smile. The chances that we'll find them again when it's over, in a sea of a hundred thousand people, is pretty slim; so I thank them for dinner, telling them how glad I am to have met them. Athena tells Nicolas to leave the blanket, that they'll take it with them and he can get it later. We say our goodbyes and then excuse ourselves.

Down along the shore, Nicolas hums with the music being played by the orchestra. I didn't know before now that he enjoyed classical music; but I'm glad he does. My parents are regular patrons of the Chicago Symphony Orchestra and I grew up with an appreciation for it as well. Maybe when he comes to visit me again...I shiver a little, realizing that the thought of making future plans with him no longer makes me nervous; now it makes me eager.

He points out several things to me as we listen. "Michael, look at that;" or "Oh, Michael, there are loons on the lake!"

Finally I ask him, as I can no longer suppress my curiosity. "Why do you call me Michael?"

"Does it bother you?" he wonders, reaching up to run his fingers through my hair.

"No," I reply. "It's just that everyone calls me Mike. I think I introduced myself as Mike – I usually do, anyway. Do you not like the name Mike?"

"Mike is fine," he begins. "Mike's a good guy. Mike is the guy who's crazy about baseball. Mike's on your team when you're playing a game of pickup basketball. Mike has a great sense of humor and he's a lot of fun to be around. But _Michael_ – Michael is strong and intelligent. He's confident and sexy; god, beautiful in ways others envy. Michael has great style; he's warm and sensitive, and _so_ passionate. Michael...is the man I'm falling in love with."

At that moment we hear a dull thud, the sound of the first of the fireworks being launched; and almost immediately a flare of light explodes overhead, the popping sounds that accompany it reaching us a second or two later. I don't look up yet, though, my eyes glued to Nicolas'. He is watching me intently, carefully waiting to see if the gamble he's taken by telling me, has been a wise one. For my part, I feel the staccato beat of my heart more strongly than the force of the detonations. I lean in to claim his lips with sweet kisses – once, twice, a third time – before I wrap my arms around his waist and lean in to speak into his ear. I want to be sure he hears me.

Slowly, choosing my words carefully, I reply. "Michael is a man who wondered if he'd ever find the right person. Michael has stopped wondering...because Michael is holding Nicolas."

-o-

**Awww, so much schmoop! I love Mike. I love Nicolas. I love everybody. **

**Speaking of love: CullenCoven helped me with the one Greek word I used in this chapter – using languages I don't know gives me **_**agida**_** and I'm grateful for her helping me out with the grammatical context. OnTheTurningAway helped me find a restaurant for the boys' date and is my go-to person if I have Chicago questions. **

**More love: BeCullen, melooza1 and mycrookedsmile purchased the drabbles I auctioned in the Fandom Gives Back fundraiser; those have now been published. BeCullen and melooza also went in together to win my one-shot auction; they've requested Spork (Star Trek, Spock/Kirk, the original slash couple, one true pairing, etc.) and that makes me very, very excited. Look for that story sometime in August. Thanks to everyone involved in The Fandom Gives Back – the organizers, the volunteers, the bidders, the people who donated merchandise and the authors; it was an amazing, exciting event and raised so much money for ALSF. Well done, everyone! **

**Finally: next chapter of DD will get back to Jackie, and I'm pretty sure it won't be posted for about two weeks. I am working on a FFFA entry for later in July so I need to balance my writing between the two. Big smooches to you all for your ongoing love and support. **


	27. Chapter 27

**Thanks for all the love for Mike/Michael and Nicolas in Chapter 26! If you haven't seen Nicolas' picture on my blog, the link is in my profile and he's in**** the slideshow at the top of the home page. He's a cutie. **

**Now, Jackie's back...**

-o-

_Jack_

The barbecue at Edward's parents is really nice, with people of all ages hanging out and relaxing, eating, talking and just enjoying the day. Edward takes me inside the house at one point to show me something of Carlisle's, and we end up talking privately in the study for forty minutes or more, until Jasper comes looking for us. It's nice to be able to talk openly with Edward; I appreciate his rational take on my relationship and the advice he gives me about getting in touch with Jacey...and about forgiveness. As someone who has benefited greatly from forgiveness, I guess he knows what he's talking about.

When we head for the fireworks, I'm in danger of feeling a bit morose. As we stand waiting for them to begin, Ashton puts his arms around Kath and rests his chin on her shoulder; Edward and Jasper hold hands. Though they stand close on either side of me, I feel alone, like a third wheel. However, when the explosions start to go off overhead, I feel Ashton's arm slide around my waist from one side and Jasper's arm over my shoulders from the other; and together the five of us stand, watching the display, our arms around each other. It's such a loving gesture on their part, and as I have felt all weekend, I feel ensconced and cared-for.

-o-

Ashton, having arranged to go to work late on Tuesday morning, takes me to the airport. We share a few last laughs, as well as some more serious moments when I promise to be a better friend to him, to keep in touch and to keep him in the loop. He smiles gratefully, and when he drops me at the curb at Sea-Tac, jumps out of the car for a moment to stand on the sidewalk with me.

"I'm glad you were here this weekend, Jack," he says earnestly. "It was so good to see you. I missed you, bro."

"I know," I reply. "I missed you too. Hey, maybe in the fall when things slow down a bit for you at work, you and Kath can come to Chicago. Stay with me for a few days, see the city...?"

"Yeah!" he replies. "We'd love that!"

"I would, too." I grin at his infectious enthusiasm.

After a quick hug, he pats me on the shoulder and says, "Have a safe flight. Let us know when you get home."

I nod. "You bet. And Ash, thanks for everything. Both of you – you're the best."

"You're welcome." With one last grin, he gets back into his car and drives off; after watching him go, I head into the airport and make my way to security.

When the plane is in the air and the seatbelt sign is off, I pull my iPod, a spiral notebook and a pen out of my carry-on and get settled in. My pen poised over the paper, I stare out the window as I consider what I want to say to Jacey. It doesn't need to be a long, belabored discussion – just need to make my point, get a couple of answers to the things I need to know, and be done with it.

The first thing, and it's a small point, but important nonetheless: the guy's name. The second: how serious was his relationship with the guy when I was in Austin – was he already in deep at that point? Why, when he begged me for honesty, didn't he tell me about this until he was in the midst of breaking up with me?

I also need to let him know how I feel. I'm angry that he slept with me when he knew he was going to break up with me. I'm heartbroken that he left me; when we both asked him for exclusivity, he didn't choose me. I feel betrayed because he wasn't honest with me; he wasn't just getting sex, he was having an _affair. _ Knowing there was another man to whom he was saying, "I love you"...it's just cruel.

I know my own part in this, and I told him some of this when we were breaking up. I know that if I'd asked him to come to Chicago for the summer, this wouldn't have happened. I know if I'd given him exclusivity when he said he wanted it, it would have been far less likely. I know I was slow to be able to express my love for him. From the moment he started singing to me, that morning of my dad's birthday, I felt it. I wasn't even able to admit it to myself, though; let alone tell him.

When I get home my apartment is hot and stale from being closed up for a few days. I open the windows for a few minutes, getting rid of the stagnant air, before I turn on the air conditioner. Once I've unpacked, I grab some lunch and sit down at my laptop. I've got my thoughts in order now, and I'm ready to talk to him whenever he's able to call.

I send a couple of quick emails, to the Seattle folks and to my mom, to let them know I'm home safe; then I open up a new email. Where it used to be so natural to type Jacey's name into the "To" line, now when the auto-complete suggests his name, my stomach clenches into knots. I hesitate over the subject line, not knowing what to put. Eventually I just leave it blank, and continuing on to the body of the email, I begin.

_Dear Jacey,_

I backspace a few times and start again.

_Jacey,_

_It's been a few weeks since you ended our relationship so suddenly. Now that I've had time to get my head back on straight, I'd like to have a conversation. I assume you get a few hours' break here and there – I'd appreciate it if you would call me when you do. I have a couple of questions, and a few things to say; things I was too blindsided to think of, last time I saw you. If you cared about me, as you say you did, I think I deserve that much._

_You know my schedule. Talk to you soon._

_Jack_

I revise a word here or there, but soon I hit "send" before I can reconsider the whole thing. It's straightforward, as unemotional as I can make it...okay, I did allow a little bit of guilt in there as well. If I know Jacey at all, he _will_ call me.

Now I just have to wait.

The next couple of days are killer, as I keep expecting him to call. I'm pretty sure he won't call my work; he knows I avoid personal calls at work where at all possible. Tuesday and Wednesday night pass with no action; and I figure if I haven't heard from him by Saturday evening, he's just not going to call. If he doesn't, I'll move on, knowing I tried.

However, Thursday night, shortly after nine, my cell phone rings, startling me as I read on my couch. I jump to get it, and peering at the screen I see the name. _Jacey Dawes._

With shaking hands I push send. "Hello?" I answer, trying to keep my voice modulated.

"Hi, Jack," comes the voice at the other end, quiet and sweet, just as I remembered it. I force myself to steel my voice a bit more before replying.

"Hello," I reply, more brusquely than I intended.

"It's Jacey," he adds, and I roll my eyes.

"Right." There's a pause before I say, "I wasn't sure you'd call."

He's quiet when he answers. "You were right, I owe you that much at least. Um...are you...doing okay?"

He does genuinely sound concerned. Regardless, I ignore the question, instead replying, "I have some questions."

"Of course."

"The other guy. You didn't tell me his name."

"Oh." He doesn't sound like he was expecting this question. "It's Matt."

"Right. What was your relationship with Matt when I was in Austin?"

"Well...we had slept together," he begins. "I told you in May that there was someone from camp, remember?"

"I know what you told me," I reply, a trifle testily. "Forgive me if I want clarification on some of the things you said prior to June 18."

"You're right," he whispers. "Ask whatever you need to know, Jacki- er, sorry. Jack."

"So? What was it? Were you already together?"

"No. Not in any formal way. I knew he liked me."

"And you liked him," I press.

"Yes."

"Did he know about me?"

He sighs softly. "He knew."

"The truth? About the extent of our relationship?"

"Yes. I told him how I felt about you."

Ever so briefly it occurs to me that Matt knew more about me than I did about him; but I press onward. "So when I told you I loved you that night, and you said you loved me too..."

"I did love you, Jack. I mean...I do." His voice breaks on the last words, and my anger falters a bit.

"You came here, Jacey," I tell him, "and I understand why you came to tell me face-to-face; but then you slept with me. You begged me to," I stumble over the words, "make love to you, knowing you were going to leave me the next day. That was...do you understand how wrong that was?"

"Yes," he whispers.

"And then you told me about him, and I was so blindsided...I know you're not perfect, but I thought you were perfect for _me_. When you were begging me to be honest, when we were promising to _talk_ about everything, I thought we were finally on the right track. I thought we _understood_ each other and we knew what we had to do to move ahead _together._ And then to find out you were keeping this from me? You broke my heart, Jacey, but what's even worse is...I wouldn't have believed you capable of being so cruel."

He's obviously crying now. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry. If I could go back and do it again..."

"Well, it's too late for that," I reply sadly. From his end I only hear sniffling; I take a moment to compose myself before continuing. "This Matt – he treats you well?"

"Better than I deserve," he whispers.

"Jacey..." I can't believe what I'm about to say. "You do deserve the best. I'm not saying you didn't handle this in the worst possible way, but I want you to be happy. And safe."

"Why do you care what happens to me?" he asks desperately.

"Because you're Jacey. You're not _my_ Jacey anymore, but..." I take a deep breath before deciding to just be honest. "...I love you."

"I love you, Jack," he whispers.

It's time to put an end to the conversation. "Okay. I've said what I needed to say and unless there's something you want to add, I think it'd be best if we said goodbye now."

He's clearly trying to get himself under control. "Yeah," he sniffles. "Okay."

"So...please take care of yourself," I tell him quietly.

"You too," he murmurs.

"Goodbye, Jacey."

"Bye."

With his always-sweet voice, I can picture him, so upset as we talked. He's not a monster; he's not a bad person. He made some naïve decisions, landed himself in a bad situation and handled it really poorly. Make no mistake, I'm very hurt, but knowing he feels the gravity of the situation helps somehow. It's been easy to picture him and Matt blissfully living their new life. Instead, it's apparent that he at least realizes the impact of his decision – on me, on him – and is feeling the weight of it.

Hearing him tell me, again, that he loves me, is difficult to take. I believe him, but of what good is it? He chose someone else. And though I can't pretend to be able to understand what Matt was thinking, continuing into an expanding relationship knowing Jacey was already seeing me, it's not like he acted alone. Jacey was the one who had a responsibility to me, to be honest, and he wasn't.

For a good hour after the call, I remain on the couch, my feet up, just feeling listless. I go over everything in my mind, again and again – the memories from the first weekend, formerly so sweet and treasured, now tarnished; thoughts of seeing him in January, March and May; and hours upon hours of conversations in between. I know what he did to me, but god, I just miss him so much. Talking to him has sapped the ire from me; I don't have the desire to be bitter. I wonder if I'll ever be able to get over that boy.

-o-

The next day is Friday, and with the heat wave that's been gripping Chicago for close to a week, it's too damn hot for basketball. I call Mike and ask him if he wants to go for a beer – not to a club, just to a pub where we can chat.

He agrees readily, and we meet at a pub halfway between our homes, very happy to see each other. Over a couple of beers he asks about my trip to Seattle. He laughs heartily when I relate the details of how Kathleen wrangled me back to Seattle. I tell him about the warm care my friends gave me, and that, to my surprise, I truly enjoyed the weekend. When I mention Kathleen's suggestion that I call Jacey, he nods in agreement.

"I think that's good advice, Jack. Maybe in a few weeks you should give him a call."

"Yeah..." I grimace. "I sort of...already talked to him."

"What!" he exclaims. "You're kidding! When?"

"Last night. I emailed him Tuesday when I got home from Seattle and told him I had some things I needed to say, and that I deserved the chance to say them. He called me last night."

"Wow. So what happened?"

I give a replay of the conversation as he listens sympathetically. It's clear, when I tell him about Jacey's admission that he loves me, that Mike is frustrated with him. "Just what, exactly, was the purpose of that?" he wonders out loud. "To make himself feel better?"

"I don't think so," I muse. "It definitely _didn't_ make him feel better, whether he thought it would or not." I sigh. "It's just an all-around crappy situation, and the worst part is, I don't know if I'll ever really be able to let him go. If I knew he was really happy..."

"You don't think he is?" Mike asks.

I purse my lips, thinking back again, though I've done nothing but think about the conversation during every waking moment of the last twenty-four hours. "It was hard to tell, because the conversation itself was so intense. And who knows - maybe I was reading my own hopes into it. But...no, he didn't sound happy to me. If he was really happy with Matt, would he have been telling me he loves me?"

"I don't know," Mike admits. "Although...and I'm not saying this to be cruel, Jack, only trying to be objective, okay? Don't you think he probably told Matt the same thing when he was still with you?"

"Oh," I wince. "Good point."

"On the other hand, you already know he _wasn't_ happy about your relationship because of the long distance, right? And not knowing when you'd see each other again? That was already there, and then this Matt guy came along at just the time when Jacey was vulnerable."

"Yeah, because I was too much of an ass to tell him I wanted him to come to Chicago," I muse.

Mike sighs. "Hindsight is always 20/20, Jack," he says, slipping an arm over my shoulders. "No one's perfect."

I let a few moments of silence pass, lost in my thoughts, before I realize I haven't asked about Mike's holiday weekend. "So, enough about me – what about you? Did you have a good weekend?"

"Yeah," he grins. "I had a great weekend."

"Okay," I prompt when he leaves it there. "Well? Let's hear some details!"

"Well, it was hotter than hell, so I spent a lot of time inside in the air conditioning. I went to a barbecue on the Fourth; saw the fireworks, you know. Usual Independence Day stuff."

"Where was the barbecue? Your parents' house?"

"No," he replies brightly. "Some new friends. You haven't met them yet; but, uh, I'm sure you will. We had Greek food – it was so awesome. Souvlaki and tzatziki and pitas, and a bunch of stuff I don't even know the name of."

"Wow," I grin. "Sounds like a good weekend. Relaxing."

He smirks. "I enjoyed it."

"Cool. Oh, so hey, I tried something new last weekend. Kite surfing! Let me tell you about it..."

-o-

The next time I call Ashton and Kathleen I tell them, too, about the conversation. Kathleen tells me she's proud of me for calling, and asks whether it was at all fruitful – whether it benefited me in any way.

"Well, I've had a few days to think about it," I tell her, "and I think overall, yeah, I'm glad I talked to him. I mean, it stung..."

"Of course," she agrees sympathetically.

"But I had a chance to say the things I wanted him to hear; and it's behind me. I can...I don't know, try to move on, I guess."

"And how did he sound?" she asks cautiously.

"He cried. Told me again he loves me."

"Wow. What do you think that means?"

"I'm probably not the best judge of what he's really feeling," I admit, "because I'm not objective. I know what my heart and my bruised ego want to hear, but..."

Kathleen sighs. "Did he talk about the other guy at all?"

"His name is Matt, apparently," I reply. "He answered my direct questions, but he didn't offer any information of his own. Not that I really wanted to hear all about how much they love each other anyway." I grimace at the thought.

"No," she agrees emphatically. "Well, as you said, that's done now; and maybe after a while you'll be able to think about dating again. Maybe even fall in love."

"Oh, whoa," I object. "I'm not...I don't want to think about..."

She quickly apologizes. "No, Jackie, sorry – I misspoke. I was thinking far into the future, but I know it's way too soon for that."

We chat a bit longer and I thank her again for having me stay on the long weekend, telling her how great it was to see them and how grateful I am for the love of all my friends. After we say goodbye, I lapse into thought on her comments, about how I'll fall in love again someday. I know she was trying to comfort _herself_ with that thought, because it was certainly of no comfort to me. Besides, I know the truth. Jacey was it for me. I don't plan to ever fall in love again.

-o-

The next week is Aaron's 22nd birthday; and the week after that, my mother comes to visit as promised. I don't have time off during the week, but her visit is from Wednesday to the following Monday, so she takes the first couple of days to explore the city a bit on her own; and for Saturday night I've purchased tickets to take her to a show. Billy Elliot the Musical has had its run extended several times and I think we'll both like it, since we enjoyed the movie.

I offer her my vehicle, if she wants it; but she decides to take the L instead, and Thursday and Friday when I'm at work, she goes downtown, shopping and visiting a couple of museums. Each evening when I get home she has dinner almost ready. I tease her that, if she keeps it up, I won't want to let her leave to go home. She scoffs, but I can see she's more pleased than she lets on.

I love having her here. Visiting her in May made me realize that not including her among my confidantes hurt her deeply. Since then, I have made a more conscious effort to be a good son. We have a better relationship now than we did when my dad was alive; not that there was anything wrong with our relationship then, but now we're much more open. I know how happy it makes her to have my confidence. For my part, I thought I wouldn't _need_ my mom the same way by the time I'd passed my mid-twenties. I've always thought of myself as independent. Now, rather belatedly, I realize that there's just no replacement for the love and support of good parents.

We spend a lot of time just talking. She already knows it was Jacey's decision to end our relationship, of course, but previously I'd thought it unnecessary to tell her about the other guy. I tell her the whole story, hoping she won't be upset that I'd omitted that part until now, hoping she'll understand that I wasn't ready to commit exclusively to Jacey when he was here in March. She listens quietly as I tell her what I know about how the other relationship developed, and the conversation I had with Jacey after my trip to Seattle. When I'm done, she shakes her head regretfully. "What a sad situation. And yet, I can't help noticing that you don't sound angry at him."

"I've had my moments," I admit, "but mostly I just regret losing him."

"Well, yes. You loved him."

I shake my head. "Love. Not past tense."

"And he claims to share your feelings. What if you were to learn that he regretted losing you, too? What would you do?"

"If he were to call me tomorrow and tell me he wanted me back, I know my heart would want me to jump at the chance. However...it's not that simple, is it?"

"No, it's not simple," she replies, "but it's not impossible. Believe me."

I stare at her. "What are you talking about?" I ask blankly.

"You're not the only one with heartbreak in their past, you know," she answers, with a tiny smile.

"Really? You were with someone else before Dad?"

"No, darling," she corrects. "I'm talking _about_ your dad."

I can't control my reaction. My jaw drops and my eyes nearly bug out of my head. "Dad..._cheated on you_?"

"Well," she hedges, "it wasn't quite like that. We dated for a little while, and I thought we were getting serious, until one day, out of the blue, he broke it off. No warning, just told me it was over."

"Why?" I demand, disbelievingly.

"Oh, you know – we _were_ getting serious and his feelings scared him. He didn't think falling in love was 'for him'. So he broke up with me. He thought that would solve his problems."

"Wow. Just...wow," is my eloquent reply.

She grimaces. "Exactly. So I moped around for a couple of months – it was right at the end of my sophomore year of college – and by the end of June I'd realized I needed to dust myself off and get back out there. And I did. I started dating someone else."

"Which obviously didn't work out," I supply.

"It might have, I suppose," she muses. "But then one day there was a knock on my apartment door, and I opened it up to find your father standing there, looking absolutely miserable. I'll never forget it. It was mid-October and it was pouring rain, and he was soaked to the skin. He told me, 'Laura, I am such an ass.'"

"What did you say?" I ask.

"I said, 'John, I believe you.' He asked if he could come in for a moment, and when I let him, he told me he loved me. He said he was so sorry for breaking up with me and that he deeply regretted it; and he asked if I could ever forgive him. I told him, yes, I could forgive him; which was true. But then I told him I was seeing someone else, and he...it was like I slapped him across the face. Like he never considered the possibility. The regret in his eyes, the sadness and heartbreak when he really understood how much he had lost..." She pauses, gazing out the window, lost in her memories. I don't press her to continue, letting her come back to the story in her own time, which she does a few moments later. "He actually cried, Jackie."

Again my shock is evident, as I never saw my father cry once in the nearly twenty-seven years I had with him, though I know my mother saw it once or twice. Mom nods. "You understand," she says. "He asked me to take him back, and I told him I had to think about it. We'd dated for nine months and I'd only been with this other boy for four, but still, there was pride on my side, and it wasn't like I felt _nothing_ for the other boy."

"Yeah," I reply slowly.

"I took a week, and I thought carefully about it. You know how stoic you father was, darling, but he actually _softened_ after you were born. He was much more reserved in college, so I knew how much it had cost him to not only admit his feelings to himself, but admit them to me, admit his mistake and show his emotions like that. I knew he would only do that if he was absolutely certain of his feelings."

"So you took him back," I conclude.

"Yes. I didn't do it all at once. I did end the relationship with the other boy, and your father and I started to date again. I made him start back at the beginning, which he understood, and there were things we needed to discuss right off the bat. Once we'd talked it out, though, and come to a resolution, I never again brought it up. I had to let go of my resentment, let myself forget the broken heart, and just move on. Of course it helped that I was moving on _with_ the man I loved, but still, it was anything but simple."

I feel blown away by all these things I didn't know, admitting, "I don't know what to say."

"You don't have to say anything, Jackie. I just want you to know that I can see it from both sides. I understand how you feel as the person who was – pardon the expression – dumped; but I can also empathize with Jacey. It wasn't quite the same situation, but it sounds like he had a difficult decision to make, too. Maybe someday soon he'll have occasion to reconsider his choice. No one is perfect. You _can_ forgive someone if they're truly remorseful, and you can learn to trust again, too, if the person is worth it. I've never regretted taking your father back."

I blow out a long breath. "Realistically...it's probably a moot point, Mom. But," I reach to take her hand and look into her eyes earnestly, "thank you for sharing this with me. It couldn't have been easy to remember all that stuff."

She pats my hand and smiles lovingly at me. "If it helps you at all, Jackie, then it's worth it."

-o-

**Particularly big smooches to my lobster for this chapter. **

**Hey – are you reading the entries for Slash Backslash 2.0? Your starfishy is a judge this time around and the entries so far are pretty awesome! There's a link to the contest page in my profile. Last date for entries is August 15!**


	28. Chapter 28

**I know some of you were getting frustrated with Mike last week when he didn't tell Jack about Nicolas. The wait is over...**

-o-

_Jack_

After my mom goes back to Fresno on Monday, I have a perfectly normal week – I go to work, hit the (air-conditioned) gym a few times, watch some baseball, and sleep about as well as I usually do these days. It occurs to me, mid-week, that my life feels sort of like a repeat of when I first came to Chicago five months ago. I was nursing a serious wounded heart at that time, too; but I can say it never occurred to me that that, if I found myself unhappy and lonely in July, it wouldn't be about Ashton at all.

During the last week of July, I get a call that definitely cheers me. Edward calls to say that he has a job in Chicago the second week of August, and will be in town for four days. Almost before the words are out of his mouth, I ask him – well, tell him, really – to stay with me. He chuckles and I can hear the smile in his voice as he accepts. Unfortunately Jasper also has to work, so he won't be accompanying Edward on the trip; but I make sure they know they're both welcome any time. Edward promises to email me the details of his trip within a day or two; and after I chat with them both for a while we hang up. I'm glad he feels comfortable enough with me to ask to stay, particularly since I started out being friends with Jasper first; and I actually feel like I have something to really look forward to, a bright spot in my future.

My life starts to feel like it's settling into, if not something satisfying, at least something recognizable; and I suppose that's comforting. And I suppose recognizable and comforting would be highly preferable to what happens next.

On Saturday afternoon, Mike and I go to a Cubs game. It's the first one I've been to since the day I missed that one with Mike. We start off the game by getting a beer, and well, it's a hot day. Really hot. So that beer goes down pretty quickly. So does the next one. They go right to my head, and before the first inning is over I'm feeling really quite relaxed, almost boneless. I prop my feet up on the railing in front of us – front row seats, of course – and slump down into my seat, like watching the game from a recliner. I get another few beers over the course of the game, and they don't go quite as quickly as the first two did; but when the game has finished (Cubs 5, Phillies 3) I've had five altogether.

It's not as though I've never been drunk before – I have – but I seldom do it, for a couple of reasons. For one thing, I feel like shit the next day, and I hate knowing it was completely avoidable, that I did it to myself. Second, and more importantly, I don't like feeling out of control. What I would never do sober, suddenly seems like a great idea when I've had five or six; and that scares the hell out of me. Mike, who has had two and nursed them over the course of the game, just watches me indulgently. He knows from experience that this is out of character for me, and maybe he thinks it's good for me to just not worry about it for a change; for whatever reason, he doesn't comment on it at all.

He does hold his hand out for my keys, however, when we're on our way back to the parking lot. Of course I hand them over without a word of protest; he happened to mention it first, or I'd have told him he'd have to drive. He asks if I still feel up to going for dinner, as we planned. I reply that I feel fine, and though he smirks a bit, he doesn't argue. I do actually feel fine, for the first time in six fucking weeks; and I tell him that, too. He chuckles. "I can tell," is all he replies.

We don't have to wait for a table at the restaurant, despite the post-game crowd – with the afternoon game starting at noon, it's still pretty early for dinner. I end up having a glass of red wine with my dinner of ricotta ravioli; and instead of dessert, I have something the restaurant calls Neal Cassady's Coffee, with – you know it – more alcohol. Jim Beam, to be exact; and Mike's eyebrow has now climbed halfway up his forehead. Feeling very profound, I tell him that anything good enough for Jack Kerouac is good enough for me.

As we prepare to leave, Mike suggests that he drive us back to his place and I can stay over there for the night, and drive my own vehicle home tomorrow when the effects of my evening have worn off. I agree, though I wonder if he's not doing it just so he can keep an eye on me. Regardless, it makes sense, so we head to his place. Once there, I flop on his living room couch and he appears a moment later with a large glass of water.

"Drink this," he instructs. "It'll save you from a miserable morning tomorrow. Or...lessen it, at least."

"Thanks, Mike," I reply gratefully.

"Easy, now," he cautions. "Don't pound it back. I don't want to have to run for a puke bucket." He smirks as I roll my eyes. He sits on the couch beside me, relaxing back into the corner where the arm meets the back, and watches me as I sip the water.

He looks like he wants to ask me something; after seeing him watch me silently for several minutes, I finally ask, "What?"

"Nothing," he shrugs. "I've just never seen you like this. I've never seen you _want_ to get like this. I didn't know what to expect, but you're sort of endearing when you're drunk."

"Oh, great," I grimace. "An endearing drunk."

"No, it's cute," he says with a grin. "You're not all that much different from your usual self – maybe a bit more relaxed and your head lolls to the side a bit. Definitely better than some of the alternatives – mean or mouthy or handsy."

For some reason the word "handsy" strikes me as terribly funny, and I _giggle_ at the connotation. I giggle so hard that my upper body pitches to the side, toward Mike, and I end up resting against his arm and shoulder. "You're funny, Mike," I hiccup, still fighting the giggles. "You always make me laugh."

He chuckles and shifts to wrap his arm around my shoulder, so I'm pressed into his left side. "Right, and I'm downright hysterical when you're drunk."

"You are. You're exactly what I need." I angle my body toward his, resting my head on his shoulder, my face close to his neck; and let him hold me for a while. It feels nice to be held, and he's so warm, and he smells really good. I inhale the warm, familiar scent; and though I feel his body tense slightly beneath me, I snuggle a bit closer.

"Uh...Jack?" he asks tentatively.

I lift my face to his. "You know how beautiful you are, don't you," I offer clumsily.

"What?" he asks with a bemused frown.

"You are. And you're always there for me. I think..." I start to lean closer, planning to kiss him; his eyes widen until he pulls his head away.

"Jack," he says, disapproving. "You don't want this."

"I do, too," I reply, though his initial rebuff has already started to penetrate the haze that clouds my judgment.

"No," he disagrees.

"Come on," I cajole. "Don't you want it?"

"Jack," he says sharply, and it makes my eyes snap to meet his. "I'm not the one you want; and you should know better than to think I would get involved _again_ with a man who's in love with someone else."

His words, though they are spoken reproachfully, are also laced with regret. They are exactly the right words to bring me back to my senses, and I sit up abruptly, horrified.

"Oh my god. Mike...I'm sorry. I can't believe what I..." I start to back away, almost scrambling to get away from him, but he holds out his hands.

"Jack," he says. "It's okay...don't get upset."

"I'm such an ass!" I moan, my head sinking into my hands.

"You're not an ass," Mike murmurs, and slides close to me, unbelievably taking me back under the warmth of his arm. "You're lonely and you're drunk, and you made a poor choice. But you stopped when I asked you to. Jack..." He slips a hand under my chin and makes me meet his eyes. "Really – it's okay. I understand, and there's no damage done."

The combination of the alcohol and Mike's rejection, and the horror of realizing I hit on my best friend, and the understanding and sympathy he shows me...it's all too much. For the first time since I was in Seattle, tears sting my eyes before spilling over. "Awww...Jack," Mike says sympathetically, pulling me against him again.

"I love him. I miss him so much," I whisper.

"I know you do, honey," he soothes gently, rubbing my upper arm.

"I'm sorry I hit on you, Mike."

"There are worse things."

Knowing Mike as I do, I know, whether I deserve it or not, he has already forgiven me completely. I'm very lucky to have a friend who is so understanding. But since the last thing I need to do is test his patience, I offer, "I swear, I'm never getting drunk again."

He chuckles. "I hear it's one of the better ways to really enjoy the beat poets, though..."

-o-

The night ends fairly soon after that; or at least, it does for me. I head to bed early, crashing on Mike's guest bed – no puke bucket needed, thanks very much.

When I awake the next morning I'm grateful that this room faces west, and I don't have the bright sunshine pouring into my room. I move experimentally in bed, slowly turning my head one way and the other, determining what effects of last night are still with me. I have a bit of a headache and my head's a little fuzzy, but I think I'm pretty well off, considering. A second glass of water before I went to bed last night, was a help, I'm sure.

I smell coffee brewing downstairs. I get up and take a quick shower before joining Mike in the kitchen. He smiles at me, and though I look closely, there's not a hint of shadow in his expression that would indicate he's harboring anger about last night.

"Good morning," he says warmly.

"Good morning," I reply, sheepish.

"How are you feeling this morning?" He looks much too amused, despite his obvious efforts to hide it.

"I'm alright. You?"

"Just fine." He sets a coffee cup on the counter as I pull out a chair at the kitchen table. "Coffee?"

"God, yes. Please."

He chuckles and pours the coffee, then crosses to set it in front of me, before settling across the table. I thank him gruffly, not quite making eye contact; and take a few sips of the elixir before speaking again.

"Mike...I shouldn't have come onto you last night. It was so inappropriate, not to mention how flattering it must be to be hit on by a goddamn drunk. I don't know what I was thinking, jeopardizing our friendship like that." I finally look up to meet his gaze. "I'm sorry."

His expression, at first earnest, now becomes friendly. "You're forgiven. You didn't jeopardize our friendship, Jack. I know you weren't yourself last night – I knew that after your second drink at the ballpark."

"I shouldn't have had so much," I admit.

He shrugs. "You're a big boy. You're allowed to blow off steam once in a while. It's been a rough summer for you. I'd be more concerned if I thought you actually did feel that way about me; but I'm quite certain you don't."

"No," I agree. "I love you, Mike, but as a friend. You said last night that you aren't the one I want, and you're right."

"I know. I feel the same way about you." He smiles. "And you're not the one I want, either."

It takes me a moment before I realize there's more to that statement. I meet his eyes to find him carefully watching me, looking for all the world like he's trying not to smile. I tilt my head to one side and stare at him critically. "Wait...what? _Is_ there someone you want?"

The smile finally breaks through, and he looks so beautifully happy, it nearly takes my breath away. "Well...since you asked," he begins carefully, "the answer is yes. I'm seeing someone."

I could not be more surprised if he told me he was having tail feathers implanted. "You're seeing someone?" I exclaim. "Who? Where did you meet him? For how long?"

He lifts his chin and laughs heartily before replying. "Which one should I answer first?"

"Who is he?"

"His name is Nicolas Kouris; he's twenty-seven and he's a biologist." He sounds like he's reading a resume; but I think that's his intention.

"Where did you meet him?"

"I first met him at one of the clubs here in Chicago."

"Okay." That sounds like a loaded answer. "You _first_ met him? Wait...is this the guy?"

"The guy?" he hedges.

"You said a while ago that you'd met some guy and you kept hoping to run into him again, but you hadn't."

"Oh, _that_ guy. Well...actually, yes, he is that guy. I thought you meant...well, anyway. Yeah."

"What did you think I meant?" I ask, curious.

"Well, there was also a guy you saw me with a couple of months ago."

I think for a moment, then it dawns on me. "Oh – the one you met on the street in Austin? No, I didn't think of that. I mean – he's there and you're here, right?"

"Yeah," he grins. "Except – it's him too. The guy I met on the street in Austin is the guy I slept with here in Chicago way back in December."

My jaw drops. "What? Are you kidding?"

He shakes his head. "Not kidding. We recognized each other right away, and – you know – that was it."

"That's – wow! That's amazing!"

"Meant to be, I guess." He smiles, and he looks completely happy and content. He goes on to tell me that, shortly after their night together in the winter, Nicolas finished his schooling and moved to Austin where his parents are. He insists their meeting on the street in Austin was meant to be; and it occurs to me that, though he doesn't necessarily show it often, Mike is a bit of a romantic where fate is concerned.

"So...okay, wait – have you been seeing him since May?"

"We took it slow at first because I didn't want to get in too deep too fast. But we emailed and then we started calling each other; and he already had a Chicago trip planned for June, to visit his brother, so when he came, we went out for dinner, and of course he came back here with me and...you know." He grins broadly.

"Wow. I'm so surprised by this." It's obvious how happy he is, and I'm almost one hundred percent happy for him, except... "You never said anything."

"I wanted to tell you sooner, and I'm sorry it's taken me so long to be open with you about it. In my defense, I _had_ planned to tell you about him the weekend after he visited here. It was the day we were going to go to the baseball game?"

"Oh." _That _day. "Right. I see your point."

"And then, well...there have been times when I almost told you, but I kept chickening out."

"Really? Didn't you think I'd be happy for you?"

"I knew you would; but I just felt odd about this new thing beginning for me, just as your relationship was ending. And there's that little parallel between my relationship and the one you had with Jacey, where one of us is in Chicago and the other's in Austin; I didn't want to be the reason for bringing up sad memories."

I smile, grateful for such a kind friend. "Mike, you are a truly decent guy. Really, though, you don't have to worry. The memories that make me sad have nothing to do with you. You deserve so much happiness, and I'm thrilled for you." I rise to hug him and he meets me beside the table. After a warm embrace and a kiss on the cheek, we get some more coffee and return to the table, where something occurs to me. "Oh," I say. "Can I ask you a question?"

"Of course," he says.

"Fourth of July weekend?" I crook an eyebrow at him and smirk, certain I already know the answer.

He smiles brightly and unabashedly. "The fireworks over Austin truly are stunning."

-o-

The next week is the beginning of August, and it passes in much the same fashion as the one before it; work, the gym, reading or on the telephone with friends in the evening. When Friday comes, I realize it's been six weeks since the night Jacey showed up on my doorstep. I don't know how to feel about that. On one hand – have six weeks already gone by since the last time I held him? On the other hand – has it only been six weeks? It feels like a lifetime without him.

I chat with Mike a few times and make a point of asking him about Nicolas; it takes a few conversations before he seems to completely trust that I'm truly happy for him (and that I understand why he chose not to tell me right away), but once he does, he can't say enough about Nicolas. The more he talks about him, the more satisfied I am that he is with someone who is truly good for him; and that makes me happy. I'm looking forward to meeting Nicolas next time he visits. I also notice that Mike seems to be making an effort to illustrate to me that he truly does not have any resentment over my sloppy, unbelievably stupid attempt to hit on him; and I'm so grateful for that.

The following week is Edward's visit. He is renting a vehicle at the airport, so I don't go to pick him up; but I have dinner ready for his arrival Monday evening. He arrives around seven and as soon as he has dropped his bags on the floor of my foyer, I wrap him in a huge hug, welcoming him.

"Jack," he smiles when I release him, "it is so good to see you."

"You too. I'm so glad work brought you to Chicago! I've been looking forward to it ever since you called," I tell him, picking up his bags to carry them to my room. After a very brief, one-sided argument about who will sleep where – he insists I sleep in my own bed and he'll sleep on the couch, to which I roll my eyes and continue into my room with his stuff – I open a bottle of wine for him and a bottle of Perrier for me, and we sit down to dinner. I ask him to pardon me for not making a home-cooked meal, but I barely cook for myself as it is; and with Edward avoiding carbs and me not eating meat, it would have been interesting, to say the least.

Edward dismisses it offhandedly, saying he's used to eating out when he travels anyway. "I'm not staying with you for the cooking, Jack; I'm here for the company. And, well, for your bed too, I guess," he adds with a smirk.

He tells me about his flight, that the plane hit serious turbulence over the mountains. Edward normally falls asleep almost the minute the plane takes off; but even he was awake during the flight, and his nerves feel a bit wrought. That first evening, he goes to bed early, pleading exhaustion and an early morning the next day. He has an early morning shoot, and says he's likely to be gone before I'm up tomorrow. Before he goes to bed I give him a key to use for the week, so he can come and go as he needs to while he's here.

True to his word, he's gone when I awake. Once I've checked through the apartment to see that he is indeed gone, I think to myself that he would make a great cat burglar; he didn't make a sound as he got ready, and I was sleeping right there in the living room.

He texts me during the day that he'll look after dinner. He's already there when I get home from work, working away in the kitchen. Since he knows we both eat shellfish, he has brought home a pound of jumbo shrimp and is making Thai shrimp with coconut milk and lots of vegetables and cashews, plus rice noodles for me. I'm not used to having food that doesn't come from a takeout container, especially midweek; and Edward is such an awesome cook.

As we eat he tells me a little about the shoot he's doing. It's always amazing to me how far in advance these things are done for publications that won't hit store shelves for months. He doesn't do fashion photography often, but he has a soft spot for Chicago, since he lived here for a few years after he finished college; and he has worked with this particular magazine before and gets along well with the photography director.

I tell him that, while he's here, I'd love for him to meet Mike; that he'll be the first of the Seattle crew to do so. He readily agrees and suggests we go out for dinner Wednesday evening, as he anticipates finishing up his job by mid-afternoon. He's staying an extra day with me on Thursday to do some shopping and sight-seeing before flying back Friday morning. He heads to the shower after dinner, preparing for another early morning; and I call Mike to find out if that works for him. He, too, is excited about meeting one of my out-of-towners.

Dinner out with the two of them goes really well. I know Edward can be quite reserved – though that has changed somewhat since he and Jasper got married – but I'm thrilled that they get along famously right off the bat. Mike gives Edward a look of mock horror when Edward admits he hates sports, baseball included; Edward returns the favor when Mike informs him he has season tickets to the Cubs. Aside from those little sticking points, though, we laugh and chat as though all three of us have been friends for years, not months. It's not quite the same without Jasper, though. When I mention this to Edward, he wistfully agrees, before launching into a list of reasons why Jasper is, "the best person in the world, ever." It does my heart good to know that the two of them are so in love and supremely happy.

When we're on our way home Wednesday night, Edward asks me if I want to go to one of the clubs; and I get the distinct sense that he's not asking because _he_ wants to go, but because I might. I just shake my head. "Nope. I'll go with you if _you_ want to go; but otherwise, no."

"Do you go at all anymore?"

"I've been to a bar – like, a pub – once or twice with Mike in the last few months. I haven't been to a club since I was in Austin in May."

"What's stopping you?" he asks gently.

I sigh. "There's nothing there for me. I don't drink on weekdays, and honestly, I'm thinking about giving it up on weekends too. I'm definitely not looking for anyone to sleep with. And I have no reason to dance."

He nods, and for a moment the only sound from the two of us is our feet as they fall in step on the sidewalk. Presently he remarks, "You haven't been with anyone since Jacey."

"No," I reply.

"I wish I could have said the same thing after I broke up with Jasper," he comments.

I don't quite know what to say to that; and I don't think he expects an answer anyway. By the time we get back to my apartment, we've moved on to other topics.

Thursday night, his last night in the city, he meets me at my office at the end of the workday, and takes me out for dinner to thank me for the week. We take the L back to my neighborhood, stopping on the walk home from the station to get an ice cream cone. When we get back to the apartment, Edward finds he has a voicemail on his cell phone from a prospective client. I'm in the kitchen when he calls from the living room, "Hey Jack, do you have paper somewhere?" Before I can reply he speaks again. "Hang on, I think I found some."

When I join him in the living room a moment later, he's sitting on the couch, looking down at something in his lap. I walk around the couch to join him...and seeing the deep green cover and spiral binding on what he holds in his hands, I nearly drop the two cups of tea I'm carrying.

He's slowly paging through a sketchbook. And since sketchbooks aren't something _I_ buy or have around...well, I know who this must belong to.

With trembling hands I set the cups on coasters on the table, and lean close enough to catch a glimpse of the drawings inside. It's definitely a Jacey book. Feeling like I've had the wind knocked out of me, I sit slowly down on the couch beside Edward. Still looking intently at the book, he murmurs a vague, "Thanks for the coffee," not realizing that I'm having a bit of a moment here.

"Where did you get that?" I ask quietly.

"It was in the drawer of your coffee table," he replies. "Hope you don't mind, I was digging for paper."

Of course. It comes back to me now – the day Jacey left, finding the pad on my table and tucking it away in the drawer because I knew I couldn't look at it just then. I've simply forgotten it existed at all.

I exhale in a rush of breath, and Edward finally looks at me, realizing as soon as he does that I'm not in a good way. "Oh, shit! Jack – I'm sorry. I'll put it away." He starts to do so, but I lay a hand on his arm.

"Don't," I tell him. "I want to look at it."

His eyebrows climb a bit. "Have you looked at it before?"

I tell him about finding it the day of the breakup and that I forgot it was there. "I can't ignore it now," I reason, "and I'd rather not look at it alone, to be honest."

He nods empathetically. "Okay. We'll look at it together." He hands the closed book to me and shifts closer, putting one arm along the back of the couch behind my shoulders.

I take a deep breath and open the first page. The very first sketch is of the chrome giraffe across from my apartment building, and though I didn't know what to expect, this is a surprise. The next one is a sketch of me, similar to the one he had framed for me, which now sits at the back of my bedroom closet because it's too painful to look at every day. The sketches that follow alternate between things we've seen together – the Cloud Gate sculpture, the bats, the Temple of Love – and sketches of me, of him, and sometimes of the two of us together. When I get to the last sketch in the book, it's one of me alone in bed, stretched out on my stomach with the sheet covering just my middle. The caption is, "Jack sleeps." It's dated May 28, 2011 – the Saturday I was in Austin. We woke up together that morning, the day after I told him I loved him; so I'm left to wonder whether he sketched this from memory or if he actually drew it while I was asleep.

The final entry in the book isn't a sketch. It's four simple words in Jacey's hand: _The future is unwritten._ I stare at those words for a long time, feeling numb, and wondering when he wrote them. Was it when he was trying to decide between us? Was it after he'd already made up his mind?

Finally Edward softly asks, "May I?" His words break me from my reverie and I hand him the book. He leafs backward through the pages again, stopping to stare at this page or that. Repeatedly I hear him murmur to himself as he looks at the pictures, and he eventually says, "Amazing."

"What?" I ask dully.

"Well, for one thing, he's very good."

"I always thought so, but I don't know a thing about art," I offer.

"He's _very_ good," he repeats.

"Is there a 'for another thing'?"

He purses his lips, as though trying to decide what to say. "If I was looking through someone's portfolio, and I saw this and had no idea who the artist was, knew nothing about his personal situation, I would assume the subject in all these drawings – you – was the love of his life. There's so much feeling in these. He isn't just sketching a figure; the tenderness is palpable." He looks at the book a moment longer. "I don't understand..."

"Yes?" I prompt.

"I just don't understand how he ended it with you; it must have been like tearing off his own arm. I don't..." He stops himself, shaking his head slightly, and finally looks away from the book, finding my eyes. "Jack, I'm sorry. I know how hard it must be for you to even to look at them, without me sitting here analyzing them." He tightens his arm around me for a quick second. "You didn't know the book was there?"

"I forgot," I reply. "He left it on the coffee table the last day he was here. It was under my newspaper, and I found it after he left. I figured at the time that he'd left it behind on purpose - obviously I was right. I couldn't look at it right away, and I put it out of sight in the drawer and forgot all about it." I sigh. "Why did he bother? Wasn't it enough to put a knife through my heart? Did he have to leave me the illustrated guide, too?"

"Did you ever think..." Edward begins, before stopping abruptly.

"What?" I ask, repeating myself when he doesn't continue right away.

"Okay...well, I've wondered a couple of times since this happened – what if he was testing you when he came here that weekend?"

"Testing me?"

"Well, perhaps testing is the wrong word; but maybe he came to see you hoping that, if you were faced with losing him, you'd fight for him."

"He already had me," I protest. "I told him I loved him. I asked _him_ to be exclusive."

"Did you ever ask him to come to Chicago? I mean for more than a visit?" he asks.

"No," I admit.

"Did you ever tell him that living with him or, at least, in the same city, was something you' hoped for in the near future?"

"The near future? He had two years left of school."

"Chicago doesn't have an art school, attached to a world-class museum?"

"He lives in Texas..." I reply, but my objection is pretty lame, since it provides a segue directly into Edward's point.

"You made the choice for him," he says quietly. I don't answer, but he's right. I more or less knew it already but I haven't truly acknowledged it until now. Edward's the first person to say it.

We sit in silence for a few minutes until he says, "Well. Ancient history, I guess." He hands the book back to me. I stand to take it to my room, but a loose piece of paper slips out from between the pages. Folded in three, it falls to the floor. I bend to pick it up and, unfolding it, find that the letterhead bears a large square with four letters in the lower third: SAIC. Beside the logo are displayed the long forms of the words that comprise the acronym.

School of the Art Institute of Chicago.

"What is it?" asks Edward, curious.

It's a letter, dated April of this year and addressed to Mr. Jacey Dawes, at his apartment in Austin. Not reading it is not even an option.

_Dear Mr. Dawes_,

_Thank you for your application for academic transfer from University of Texas - Austin. After reviewing your application, transcripts and portfolio, we are pleased to advise that you are accepted for academic transfer to the School of the Art Institute of Chicago..._

I gasp, and Edward asks again, more insistently this time, "What? What is it?"

With trembling hands I sink back to the couch. "It's a letter."

"From Jacey?" he asks.

I shake my head. "_To_ Jacey, from..."

"Jesus, Jack," he swears, impatient.

"Here," I reply, shoving the letter at him. He scans quickly, his mouth falling open when he  
reaches the crux of the letter, then he turns to me and gapes.

"What does this mean?" he asks. "Is Jacey coming to school here next month?"

"No...no, I don't think he is," I frown, considering it. "It's dated in April, when we were still together. He must have applied...hell, before he even visited here in March?"

Edward nods. "Yeah, they don't make these decisions too quickly."

"Right. Plus, he's got a reason to stay in Austin now, so...you know. No. He's not coming to Chicago."

"Yeah, I'm sure you're right," he agrees.

"What I can't figure out is why he put it in here," I offer. "Was he just trying to hammer me with what I've lost?"

"Well, it wasn't in among the sketches," he points out, "or we'd have come across it. Are there more sketches in the back?"

I flip through, seeing only blank pages. "No, nothing."

"If he put it in there on purpose for you to find it, he'd likely have put it in the drawings, wouldn't he?"

"That makes sense," I admit.

"Maybe he didn't know it was in there. It doesn't explain how it got there, but it's possible."

I nod slowly, suddenly realizing that I am fucking exhausted. "You know what – I am worn out, Edward. I know it's relatively early still, but it's been quite a night."

"Yeah," he agrees. "Of course, Jack. Can I convince you to take your bed back tonight?"

"No," I assure him. "Don't be silly. It's your last night – I'll be fine, really."

"Okay. Well, then I guess I'll head off too, and read before I go to bed." We both stand, and he wraps me in a warm hug. "You're going to be okay, Jack."

"Thank you." I return his hug and give him a kiss on the cheek, before he pulls away, smiles, and turning, goes to bed.

Once I've made my bed on the couch and am lying in my darkened living room, I'm surprised that what weighs on my mind most isn't the pictures; it's not even the letter from SAIC. It's those four words – _The future is unwritten_. I wonder when Jacey wrote it; I wonder what – who – he was thinking about.

Even with everything I have to think about, I really _am_ exhausted. It isn't long before the unpleasant thoughts slip away as my consciousness fades.

Edward gets up to have breakfast with me the next morning before he flies back to Seattle. When I'm leaving for work, we exchange another hug, and I give him a kiss to pass on to Jasper for me. He gets a wicked gleam in his eye, but doesn't elucidate. I figure it's just as well.

I get a call that night from Jasper, who has heard the story of the sketchbook from Edward and has some opinions of his own. He doesn't agree with Edward's opinion that Jacey tucked the letter into the book accidentally; to him, it sounds too coincidental. I can see his point, too; but as I tell him, it really doesn't matter how it got there or why. It's old news, and things are very different now than they were back in April when he received the letter.

-o-

The ridiculous humidity we had in July seems to have cleared out, for a few days at least, and our basketball group takes advantage of it over the weekend to get in a couple of games of pickup. Sunday afternoon Mike and I watch the Cubs game at my apartment. It's the bottom of the ninth when his cell phone rings. After looking at the screen, he flashes me a wide smile. "It's Nicolas. Sorry...do you mind if I take this?"

I laugh at him. "Of course not! What am I going to say? No, don't take the call?"

He grins and answers the phone, his face lighting up when he hears Nicolas' voice. "Hey there," he greets him. "I'm fine – just watching the Cubbies with Jack." He gives me a wink before he disappears into the bedroom. I smile to myself at how happy Mike sounds whenever the subject of Nicolas comes up. Nicolas is coming to Chicago for Labor Day weekend; and though Mike tries to act all cool about it, I know he's nearly beside himself that the visit is still three weeks away. For my part, I'm very much looking forward to meeting the man who has so thoroughly captured my good friend's heart.

I try to pay attention to the game and not listen to the snippets of conversation I can hear from the other room; but by the lead the Mets have, it doesn't look like the Cubs will be winning this one. My attention wanders a bit, and I abandon the game altogether when I pick up on a drastic alteration in the tone of Mike's voice. He suddenly sounds upset, his voice strained though he speaks in hushed tones. "Oh my god - are you sure?" I hear him ask, and I start to get a sick feeling of dread in my stomach_._

I head to the kitchen to wash out our glasses and the popcorn bowl, placing more distance between myself and the conversation. As I'm putting the washed, dried glasses into the cupboard, Mike appears outside the door of my tiny kitchen. I turn to look at him, concerned, and it's obvious he's upset about something. Just as I'm about to ask, he holds out his hand to me and says, "We need to talk."

"Are you okay?" I ask gently, reaching out and placing my hand in his outstretched one.

"Come sit," he says, by way of not answering my question.

When we're sitting on the couch, him still holding my hand, he looks at me with such deep concern. "Okay, Mike, you're making me really nervous, now. Are you all right?"

"Am _I_ all right?" he says blankly.

"You're upset about something – what did Nicolas say to you?"

"Oh. Yes, Nicolas did tell me something that upset me a bit. But it's not about me. Actually...it concerns you."

"Me? He hasn't even met me."

"No," Mike allows, "but he did see you on the street that time; and he saw Jacey that night too."

Instantly I'm hyper-aware, knowing instinctively that Mike's mention of Jacey is not random, that something important has happened involving Jacey...and it doesn't sound good. "What about Jacey?" I demand. "Is he okay?" Mike hesitates, as though he doesn't know how to answer, and my voice rises to a new level of frantic. "Mike? What happened to Jacey?"

"Jack, shhh, nothing happened to Jacey, not like you're thinking. He's fine." His tone is measured and calm, trying to soothe my near-panic.

"Are you sure?" I ask, my heart in my throat.

"Nicolas saw him this afternoon," Mike replies reassuringly. "He's fine. Completely healthy."

Finally believing him, I exhale a long sigh of relief. "Okay," I acquiesce. "Sorry. Moment of panic."

"It's understandable," he concedes.

"Okay, so Nicolas saw Jacey today. Is that all you wanted to tell me?"

"Not exactly. Nicolas saw Jacey at a restaurant, and he knew he'd seen him before, and Jacey said the same thing, but I guess they couldn't place each other at first...anyway, as soon as Jacey said his name, Nicolas of course knew right away who he was; because he's heard me talk about you so much, and he knows about Jacey, and how many men are there named Jacey in Austin?"

"Right," I nod, hoping he'll get to the point soon.

"So Nicolas saw that Jacey was looking pretty down, and he asked how he was doing...and...Jack..." Mike pauses, looking almost stricken, and I almost can't take the suspense.

"Jesus, Mike, just tell me!"

"Jacey and Matt...they're not together anymore. They broke up a month ago."

-o-

**OH! Hands up if you asked me whether Jacey regretted breaking up with Jack? ****Stay tuned for more insight into what's been going on with Jacey since mid-June, next chapter when we get Jacey's POV. **

**To clarify the timeline: Jack and Jacey's breakup took place on Saturday, June 18. Jack does mention in the chapter that it's been six weeks without Jacey, but by the end of the chapter it's more like eight - two weeks pass between Jack's drunken attempt to hit on Mike, and finding out about Jacey and Matt. Meaning Jacey and Matt were together about a month after Jacey broke up with Jack.  
**

**Musical accompaniment for this chapter is "It's Been a While Since I Was Your Man", by Matthew Good. **

**Are you reading the entries in the Slash Backslash contest? The last date to get your entry in is August 15! Link to the contest page is in my profile. **


	29. Chapter 29

**Hello, my darlings. :) Thank you all so much for your responses to Chapter 28; I know the chapter covered a lot of ground and there was much to absorb. Just to clarify the timeline a bit: ****Jacey broke up with Jack on June 18****th. **** The weekend Jack finds out that Jacey and Matt are no longer together is August 14****th****; by then it's been a month since their breakup. That means Jacey and Matt were together for about four weeks from the time Jacey left Jack until their own relationship ended. **

**Now, it's time to finally answer the question I've been asked more than any other, since I posted Chapter 22: what the heck has Jacey been up to all this time?**

-o-

_Jacey_

I leave Jack's apartment, his kiss still burning on my lips, and head back to the airport. I have a while to wait until 4:30 when my flight leaves. I go through security and try to eat some lunch before slumping into a seat to wait. I feel numb; having forced myself to stop crying on the taxi ride to the airport, I can only keep swallowing down my emotions until I get home. Unfortunately, with nothing to do but sit and wait, it's difficult to think of anything else.

I think about getting back to Austin and having Matt there, anxious, waiting to hear from me. I should feel glad that the ugliness is behind me and that I'm going to rejoin my boyfriend, going to move forward with the life I've chosen. Instead, I find myself wishing I could run away.

And that's sort of what I decide to do, at least for the weekend. I decide on a whim to call home to Kingsland and ask my mom to come to the airport to meet me. Her flower shop closes at 4 pm on Saturdays, so she should have lots of time to get to the airport in Austin.

I call her at the shop. "Hey, honey," she greets me. "I'm surprised to be hearing from you today."

"Hey Mom," I reply dully. "Do you have plans for the weekend after you close the shop?"

"No, I sure don't," she says. "Are you coming for a visit?"

"I'd like to," I answer. "The thing is...I'm in Chicago right now, at O'Hare Airport, waiting for a flight back to Austin."

"You're in Chicago?" she exclaims. "Didn't you work this week?"

"Yes. I just flew up here yesterday after work."

"And you're turning right around and flying back?" she asks, confused. "You don't want to stay with Jack?"

"I..." My lower lip starts to tremble, and I have to take a breath to steady myself. "Mom, will you meet me at the airport and take me home for the weekend? I still have to be back at work tomorrow night, but...I need you, Mom."

"Aww, baby," she says. "Did you and Jack have an argument?"

"It's more complicated than that," I reply, "but we...broke up."

"Oh...honey, I'm sorry." Her words and her tone of love and concern stab me in the heart. I plan to tell her everything – the whole truth – when I get home; I feel guilty accepting the sympathy she's giving me. "Of course I'll meet you. When's your flight?"

"It leaves here at 4:25 and gets in at five to seven."

"I'll be there. Do you want to go out and get something for dinner after you get in, or just go home?"

"Can we play it by ear?"

"Of course," she agrees. "Safe flight, honey – I'll see you in a few hours."

"Thanks, Mom," I tell her before we say goodbye and hang up. I feel relieved – mostly – but still have one more call to make.

Matt answers almost immediately, sounding so concerned. "Jacey!"

I return the greeting softly. "Hey there."

"I'm so glad you called – I've been going nuts. I didn't want to call you in case you were in the middle of...you know...what you had to do."

"I'm at the airport," I reply.

"Are you okay?" he asks meaningfully.

I decide absolute honesty is the way to go. "Not really, no."

"I don't know what to say that will help," he admits.

"You don't have to say anything," I tell him. "But...listen, I know you said you'd pick me up from the airport when I got home, and I appreciate that. I want to see you too, but I feel like I just need a day, okay?"

"What do you mean? Where are you going to go?"

"I'm going to go home to Kingsland," I tell him. "I'm going to spend a day with my mom. She's picking me up at the airport."

"Oh," he replies. "Yeah, that'll be good for you. You haven't seen her in a while."

"Right," I reply, grateful that he understands.

"Does she know about me?" he asks.

"I told her I'm not with Jack anymore; but she doesn't know why yet. I'm going to tell her about that while I'm home."

"I could pick you up at her place on Sunday night, if you want, and we could go back to work together," he offers.

I consider his offer, deciding it's a good idea. "Sure," I reply. "You can meet her."

"Great," he says, sounding more enthusiastic than I feel. "So, what time's your flight?"

I give him the details, as well as directions to my mom's house on the outskirts of Kingsland. Finally he says, "Well, I guess I'll let you go, then. Will you let me know when you land?"

"Of course," I reply.

"Okay. Have a safe flight, Jacey, and I'll see you tomorrow around six. I love you."

I swallow before replying. "I love you too."

Once on the flight, I stare out the window at the day's bright sunshine. The next thing I know, a flight attendant is gently shaking my shoulder and telling me I need to put my seatbelt on for the descent. I suppose, between the extreme emotion of the last two days, and not having gotten much sleep last night, my body just shut down. I'm glad – sleeping actually gave me some respite from the heartbreak and guilt. It just didn't last long enough.

In the airport I get through security and find my mom waiting for me on the other side, her purse tossed over one shoulder and a smile on her face. "Honey!" she greets me, throwing her arms wide.

"Hi Mom," I reply, stepping into her embrace gratefully. I bend to bury my head in her shoulder, inhaling the familiar, comforting scent of the woman who has been the rock and foundation of my life since the day I was born.

"Welcome home, baby," she says, using the nickname I only allow once in a while. She gives me a kiss on the cheek before releasing me, keeping her arm through mine. "No bags to pick up?"

"No, just this." I hold up my duffel bag.

"Okay. I'm parked in Lot B." We make our way out to the car, deciding as we walk whether to go for dinner.

"I haven't eaten since noon," I admit. "I am starting to get a little hungry; but I'm fine with fast food."

"Sounds good to me," she agrees.

"Can we stop by my place, too? I need to get my clothes for this week. I was so focused on getting to Chicago yesterday" – god, was it only yesterday? – "that I didn't think about the practical stuff, so I'll have to do laundry at your place, if that's okay."

"Of course, it's fine." In the car I ask her about the store and about our neighbors, to keep her talking about inconsequential things, keep the conversation away from my life. I'd prefer to talk about it after we've made the stops we need to make, and get on the road, so we have no interruptions. We go to my house first. I leave Neil a note that I'll be in Kingsland for the rest of the weekend, before running up to my room and getting the large pack I carry my stuff in for the two weeks of camp. It's not even unpacked since I got home yesterday. I throw it in the back of Mom's car, we stop at a drive-through a few blocks away, and then we're on our way.

We're on Route 71, winding our way northwest, and nearly to Bee Cave before, finished my dinner, I bring up the subject of Jack. "So...I guess you're wondering what happened."

"I am," she acknowledges. "Mostly, I want to know that you're okay; or at least that you're going to be, because right now...well, forgive me, honey, but you look terrible."

I take a few deep breaths, willing myself to keep my emotions in check, before replying. "I hope it's going to start to get better, but I've had a rough couple of weeks. Unfortunately it's all my own fault."

"Why? What did you do?"

"You've heard me talk about Matt, from camp?"

"Yes."

I wince, unsure how she'll react to my next words. "I sort of...got involved with him."

"Jacey! While you were with Jack?" I chance a look at her; her expression is horrified.

"Well...this is weird to tell you about...but Jack and I sort of had an agreement. Because we were so far apart and we didn't know when we'd see each other again, we agreed..."

"To see other people," she finishes.

"Well...not exactly. We agreed we could" – I wince – "sleep with other people. The intention wasn't to get involved with anyone else though."

She sighs, and I know she's fighting between what _she_ would do and the reality of what she knows the world is like. Since I turned eighteen, she's been quite conscious of allowing me to make my own decisions, especially when it comes to sexual morality, which is such a personal thing. As such, though she may offer her opinion on what she would do in a particular situation, she does not impose her own standards for morality onto me.

"So you tried to have something casual with Matt."

"Yes."

"And it didn't quite work out the way you intended," she surmises.

"Not quite."

"And what happened?" she asks, even though I'm sure she already knows.

"I couldn't keep them separate; sex and love. I tried to have that kind of relationship; but I don't think I can. I...I fell for him."

I look at her again. Her mouth is a straight line, thin and tight. "Knowing you as I do, I'm not surprised you couldn't separate them. So I assume Jack found out and broke up with you."

"Not exactly." I grimace. "Matt told me he wanted just me. He asked me to be exclusive with him."

"And you chose him over Jack?"

"I thought about it for almost a week; and in the end, yes, I chose Matt."

"Do you mind sharing with me the reasons why you did?"

"I don't mind," I reply. "Jack is so far away. I hated leaving him or being left; it was always upsetting to say goodbye, even on the phone. I missed him all the time no matter what I was doing or thinking about – he was always right there in the back of my mind, like a missing limb or something. I never knew how long it might be till we saw each other again, and we never talked about any changes that would put us closer together in the future...it was killing me."

"So you felt Matt would be better for you," she deduces.

"Matt lives in Austin. Well, his parents live in Austin. He's in College Station – he's an Aggie. He's turning 23 in a few weeks. He's going to be a drama teacher. He's going into his senior year and he plans to stay in South Texas."

She's quiet for a few minutes, thinking, before replying, "Do you love Jack?"

The question catches me off-guard, as I expected her to ask something about Matt. Nevertheless, it brings an immediate lump to my throat. I swallow hard to try to clear it. "Yes."

"Do you love Matt?"

"Ye-yes," I stutter, and she looks at me sharply.

"Jacey." My mom is sweet and one of the most wonderful people I know, but she's also a straight shooter; and she expects – demands – that I be no less straightforward with her. The tone of her voice now reminds me who I'm dealing with.

"I think I do," I whisper, staring out the window. "I mean – yes, I do...I..." Finally, having held my tears for hours, I can hold them no longer. "I'm confused, Mom."

"Aww, baby," she says, reaching out to take my hand. If there was ever a time when this nickname was appropriate, it's now, because I suddenly feel very young, naïve and afraid. "Why did you rush into making this decision if you're not sure what you want?"

"I'm trying to do the right thing. Trying to keep up a relationship with someone who's twelve hundred miles away...it's not practical. I do love Jack, but I'm not sure the relationship is right for me. And Matt is...really great."

Again she falls into silence, thinking. The silence lasts until we turn off the road into our driveway. Our old ranch house stands set back from the road, our yard bordered by the neighboring ranch's fields on two sides. Mom parks and I pull my duffel out of the back seat.

Inside, I start a load of laundry and join Mom where she stands in the kitchen, telling her, "I'm exhausted. I'm going to crash early."

"Sure, honey," she agrees. "I'm not quite ready to go to bed, so I'll put your wash in the dryer when it's finished."

"Thanks." I give her a kiss on the cheek and a hug, and start to turn toward my room when she says my name, stopping me.

"Jacey," she says, "I need to say this. I know you're an adult and you need to make your own decisions, and I trust you to do that. Your happiness and your health are two of the most important things in the world to me. But as important as they are, you still need to know that I would be very disappointed to think you would take your happiness with the price of betraying someone else. I know people can get hurt when they're in love – it's the risk everyone takes if they get involved. But infidelity, Jacey...that can have an impact on someone that lasts a long time. My advice to you is that you make very certain you are not the cause of _that_ kind of hurt, not for _anyone, _honey. Be true to your lovers, Jacey, and be true to yourself."

Her words weigh heavy on my conscience. I don't reply, only nod and give her another hug before I turn and go to my room. I know that what I did to Jack wasn't simply a case of an honest mistake – I made the decision to move ahead with Matt, and when I did it, I knew I was not being fair or honest with Jack. That being the case, Mom certainly has reason to be disappointed. I suspect she already knows, or at least has a pretty good idea, of how things went down; and I don't bother to confirm it for her. Her disapproval will remain implied; I don't think I can handle more guilt from her on top of what I'm already feeling.

-o-

I am as worn out as I told her I was – between travelling 2400 miles in about thirty hours and all the emotional upheaval of the past several weeks and particularly today, I sleep like the dead, not waking until nearly noon on Sunday. After showering, I wander out onto the patio, the concrete slab already warm from the sun. Mom kneels at the edge of the patio, pulling a couple of weeds from an otherwise-immaculate flower bed. She smiles when I come out, asking if I'm sure I slept long enough.

"I figured you were worn out," she says, coming to sit on the chaise lounge next to mine. "I did the rest of your laundry for you."

"Thanks, Mom," I reply, reaching across the space between us to squeeze her hand. She catches mine before I can withdraw it and holds it tight.

"I had a light breakfast a while ago," she tells me. "Want to have breakfast for lunch? Bacon, eggs, the works?"

"Sounds great," I admit. "I'm starving."

We go to the kitchen and decide on an omelet with bacon on the side. I chop some peppers and onions while Mom starts the coffee, fries the bacon and grates some cheese. When it's all ready and we sit at the table to eat, to my relief, we don't revisit last night's conversation. We chat about lots of stuff, work, what's new in Kingsland, the campers I had my first couple of weeks. Mom knows what a great experience it was for me to go to art camp, how much it helped to know that I wasn't odd just because I wasn't one of the jocks. Since I've been at camp this summer, and particularly since meeting Matt, who plans to be a teacher, I've been thinking that I, too, might like to become involved in teaching in some way, shape or form. I find it so rewarding to interact with the kids and teach them what I know; help bolster their self-confidence and watch them blossom. Every one of them has their own quirks and personality and I enjoy getting to know them.

Mom listens with interest as I tell her what I've been considering. "I think you'd be great at it, honey," she says. "Teaching is a difficult job, but you have so much patience; I'm sure you'd do well. If you're serious about it, make sure you look into what you need to do in terms of your courses and credits. You might spend a couple more years in school than you thought you would; you should find that out ahead of time and plan for it." I agree, promising I'll look into that next time I have some time with my laptop, and she adds, "Don't be afraid to look at other schools, too, if UT doesn't have what you need."

"Really?" I reply. "It's interesting that you say that, because I did something sort of crazy."

Instantly she's on her guard. "What did you do?" she asks warily.

"I applied for academic transfer to the School of the Art Institute of Chicago, just to see if I could get accepted."

Her eyes go round. "When did you do that?"

"Oh...months ago."

"And?" she demands.

"I got accepted," I reply, pretending nonchalance.

"Oh my god!" she exclaims, a wide smile lighting up her face. "Jacey, that's wonderful! Are you going to go?"

"Well...I hadn't actually planned on going," I admit. "It's more expensive than UT, and—"

"Stop right there," Mom interrupts, holding up her hand. "Don't you worry about tuition. I told you I would pay for your undergrad, and I'm going to."

"But that's exactly it," I protest. "I can't ask you to pay more than what you planned for..."

"Jacey, you got accepted to the Art Institute of Chicago! This is a big deal! If you want to go there, I'll make it work. Now – can you afford the living expense?"

"Yeah, I'm pretty sure I can. I can get a job and a roommate..." I pause, the wind leaving my sails when I think of who I'd hoped would be my "roommate" in Chicago, back when I was actually considering trying to go there. That option is no longer available to me, and it reminds me that I don't have a boyfriend in Chicago anymore. Quite the opposite, in fact; I now have something tying me to Austin.

Mom sees the change in my demeanor and asks, "Honey? What did I say?"

"You didn't," I reply. "I'm not going to go, Mom. I'll stay in Austin."

She looks critically at me, as though mentally assessing the likely reasons I'm deciding against it. "Well..." she says finally, "it's up to you. But I want to make sure you know that, as far as it concerns your tuition, there is nothing holding you back from going there. So if you reconsider, just know that I'll look after it."

"Thanks, Mom." I get up and go to her, kneeling beside her to hug her tight. "Thanks for everything you do for me."

"Aww, honey," she says. "You're my boy – my only baby, and I want you to have every opportunity to be happy – in school, in love, and some day in your work and...maybe...family?" She says the last bit with a twinkle in her eye.

"One thing at a time. Let's just get through the school part first, okay?" I wince.

"Yes," she agrees with a grin. "And, uh, not to change the subject, but I sort of have some news of my own."

"What's up?" I ask curiously.

"Well...I have a...well...a date. Later this week." She gives me a cheeky smile.

"A date? With whom?"

My mom has had very few boyfriends that I can remember, and never become really serious with anyone since my biological father left her when she was nineteen years old and three months pregnant with me. Most times when I was younger, I never knew she dated at all – she was very conscientious about protecting me in that regard. I know she went out here and there, but I was only ever aware of the very few men who made it past her careful screening process. She was always clear with her dates that I was her number one priority. If she believed a guy to be truly decent and stable, and if he lasted beyond a few months, I might eventually become aware of his existence and maybe even meet him. Most men, unfortunately, weren't interested in a ready-made family when I was young; and if that was the case, it was definitely better that Mom know it right away. One thing upon which she stood absolutely firm, was that she would not expose me to a revolving door of "uncles" who would be around for a few weeks or months, then disappear, never to be seen again. The result was that, in the course of the eighteen years I lived at home, I met a grand total of two men Mom dated. They were both very nice, but the relationships both ended for one reason or another.

We did well, just the two of us. I never had any doubt whatsoever that I was number one in her life; and even though I went through a phase, around age eight, where I desperately wanting a little sibling, I was really very content with our home life. When I was eleven, her dad, my grandfather, passed away and left her some money. She'd worked at the same flower shop for as long as I could remember; she convinced the owner, Phil, to sell the business to her, and used some of that inheritance money as a down-payment, eventually changing the name of the business to LeeLee's Petals, using the nickname her dad given her.

Until now, things haven't changed a great deal since I moved out, with regard to her dating life. She no longer has to protect me; but she's very independent, having been a single parent for twenty-one years and a business owner for ten. The fact that she's not only seeing someone now, but also telling me about it, is pretty monumental.

She smiles and starts to tell me about the man she's going to go out with. "His name is Brad. He's thirty-seven, and he moved to Kingsland from San Antonio about six months ago, and he works at the bank. I went into the bank one day after Christmas to look after some stuff, and the teller told me I should meet the new business banking manager. You knew Phyllis Rogers retired, right?" I nod. "So there was Brad. He was very pleasant and friendly, and he made one or two suggestions about my accounts, which I ended up taking his advice on; and the changes turned out well. Saved me some money in service charges. So next time I was in, he saw me and came out to say hello. He remembered my name, which impressed me, and of course he was very nice again...well, a few weeks later I went to the diner to get lunch, and he was there having _his_ lunch, and asked me if I wanted to join him. He told me he got divorced a couple of years ago; he has a little girl, Emma, who's eleven, and he has full custody of her. She goes to visit her mom in San Antonio two weekends a month. He told me moved up here because he grew up in a small town in Oklahoma, and never liked the city much; and he believes it's better to raise children in a small town instead of the city."

"Wow. So you've been seeing him since then?"

"No, apart from that one day, we've only had coffee a few times. He's been really focused on getting Emma settled here – she's his priority. I told him I certain can understand that." She smiles and pats my hand. "This'll be our first 'real' date."

I nod. "I hope it works out for you, Mom. You deserve to be happy and to have love."

"Honey, I _am_ happy. I have a comfortable house, my own business, and a beautiful son who makes me so proud. And I _have_ love. I fell in love the first moment I held you in my arms; and that was for life." She smiles her warm smile again. "If things were to work out with Brad, or with any guy, life would be better still; but I don't _need_ that to be happy. I'm content."

I can't help returning her smile, knowing that what she's said is the absolute truth.

Later in the afternoon I finally tell her that Matt will be here to pick me up around six and to meet her. She asks if he'll stay for dinner, and I text him to ask. He texts back that he's having an early dinner with his parents before he heads out to pick me up, so Mom and I go ahead and have supper as well. Promptly at six, as we stand washing the supper dishes, I see his vehicle through the kitchen window, driving slowly up our long driveway, clouds of dust rolling up behind the car. Mom tells me to go meet him and bring him in, that she'll dry the last few things and put them away.

I slip out the front door just as he pulls to a stop in front of the house. He waves shyly before getting out of the car. "Hi," he says with a broad smile. His blonde hair, getting lighter every day as the sun bleaches it, is now pale against his golden-tanned skin; and his brown eyes shine as he takes in the sight of me. We start towards each other, closing the gap and meeting at the edge of the driveway. He catches me in his arms and pulls me in close, holding me tight to him. I bury my face in his neck.

"Are you okay?" he asks in a whisper.

"I don't know," I answer honestly, adding, "But I'm glad you're here."

He pulls back far enough to give me a slow kiss, and I return it, tasting his lips and his tongue, the taste that does not belong to Jack, the taste that is only Matt's. After a short moment I pull away, sliding my hand from his shoulder down to his hand. Taking it in mine, I tell him, "Come meet my mom."

The meeting goes well. He is, of course, polite to Mom; and she is cordial to him, asking him about what he's taking in school and what his parents do. They chat for a while and I just listen, sitting beside Matt on the couch, holding his hand. I should be thrilled that it's going well, and I guess I _am _happy; except it feels wrong, somehow. Hollow...like something's out of place. I try to ignore the feeling, shoving it down, deep into my gut. Finally at around seven-thirty, Matt turns to me. "Well, it'll take us an hour and a bit to get back to camp; perhaps we should get going, if we want to be there for the bonfire?"

"Yeah. Let me get my bag," I tell him, heading to the laundry room, where the last of my clothes are folded on the dryer, waiting to be packed into my bag. After I've put them in and cinched it up, we go out to the car, Mom accompanying us.

"It was lovely to meet you, Matt. Take good care of my boy." He nods and smiles, and when Mom doesn't move from beside me at the trunk of his car, he gets the hint and gets in, closing the door. Mom turns to me. "Remember what we talked about, honey," she tells me seriously. "And have a good couple of weeks. Call me if you need to talk."

"I will," I tell her. "Thanks, Mom." We hug and she gives me a kiss on the cheek before releasing me.

"I love you, baby."

"Love you too."

On the way back, Matt doesn't ask any questions about my trip to Chicago. He just tells me, after we're out on the highway and headed east toward Lake Travis, that if I want to talk about it, he's there for me; and if I don't, he understands that too. The drive back to the camp is pretty quiet, with Matt supplying small snippets of mostly one-sided conversation. We attend the bonfire; I sit between Matt's legs and lean back against him while he wraps his arms around me, pressing occasional gentle kisses into my neck. My coworkers try to get me to play the guitar, but I'm not up for it tonight; Matt eventually tells them I'm not feeling well and to please stop asking. The way Judith, my supervisor, looks at me, I believe she knows, or at least has an idea of what has happened.

We leave the fire before it's over, and that night I sleep in Matt's cabin, not even caring if people know I'm there. Quietly, so no one can hear us through the thin cabin walls, we make love in Matt's bed. For the first time I'm actually free to love him, allowed to give myself to him...and though my body is there, responding to his as he loves me, my heart and my mind keep wandering someplace far away, to an apartment in Chicago where lives the first man I ever loved...a man I love still.

-o-

The next morning, the second group of campers arrive at Texartopia. This is their first experience at sleep-away camp, and I take my job seriously; so although it's sometimes exhausting, I force myself to get it together, to be the kind of counselor they deserve – positive, fun and creative. They make it relatively easy on me by being an absolutely awesome group. There are no personality conflicts; and they develop a sort of camaraderie early on that stays with them until the last morning.

Late Monday night, after the boys are in bed, I open my laptop and go online, trying to figure out what the cancellation fee will be for the ticket Jack bought me to go to Seattle. I give it my best estimate, based on the airline's information, and send him a PayPal payment to reimburse him for it. When I get to the field where I can include a message to the recipient, I stare at the screen a long time. Should I write something? What can I possibly say that will, in just a few words, cover the multitude of things I want to tell him – that I hate sending him money, as if it were some damn business transaction; that I hate how much I've hurt him...that I love him.

I type a short note to let him know what the money is for, and sign it with, _I'm so sorry. –Jacey_

It will just have to suffice.

The first couple of nights I have off, I spend the evenings with Matt. We decide against joining our coworkers in the mess hall to play cards, instead going to the theatre arts building, lying on the stunt mats and talking. The second night we get into some pretty heavy making out, and Matt moans quietly into my ear that he wishes he could be inside me. For me, it's like having a bucket of cold water dumped over me. I gasp, pulling back a bit; Matt mistakes it for desire, and grinds against me again.

"No, stop!" I shout-whisper, ice crystals forming in the pit of my stomach.

Matt pulls away, panting, his face confused. "Jace...what's wrong?"

I'm panting too, for a different reason; I feel seized by panic, and I'm having trouble identifying the reason for my fear...or maybe just admitting the reason to myself. Either way, after groping for a reply for a few seconds, I finally answer lamely, "We...we can't do this here."

"I _know_ we can't," Matt responds, affronted. "Did you really think I would try? Jesus, Jacey – I don't want us to lose our jobs." He rolls away from me onto his back, his legs hanging off the edge of the deep mat. After a couple of minutes his breathing returns to a more normal rate, and he eventually sits up.

I remain lying on the mat a while longer, fighting tears and panic, feeling guilty for pushing Matt away and a myriad other things. Finally I whisper, "I'm sorry."

He is silent for a few minutes before replying, "I'm sorry, too. I shouldn't push you...but I thought, since we've already been together, you would be okay with making out..."

I sigh. "You're right. You weren't pushing. It's hard, being here – walking the fine line of what's acceptable behavior, even on our own time. And I have some...I don't know...residual guilt, I suppose you'd call it. It's going to take me a while to get over that."

He nods slowly. "I guess I can understand that. But, Jace," he turns and strokes my face gently with his hand, "you don't have to feel guilty anymore, about us. I mean...I didn't think you had anything to feel guilty about before, but now we're official. You decided - it's you and me. We can be happy."

I nod, smiling tightly. He smiles and lies down beside me again, wrapping his arms around me and pulling me to his chest. For a long time we lie together quietly. I am relieved he can't see my face, see how I am fighting to keep it together; because his words, meant to be a comfort to me, are anything but. I want to rip my own heart out and throw it away so I don't have to feel the pain I've inflicted on myself, let alone those who love me.

My third night off is a Monday night. I feel like I haven't had a moment to myself in weeks, and I know one of the best ways for me to work through feelings of conflict is to draw and let my mind work it out as I do. It's like a magical catharsis for me, and though it isn't always accomplished in a single session, if I can get a couple of hours to myself, I can count on it to soothe my rumpled soul.

Unfortunately, selling Matt on the idea of _not_ spending our time off together, is not easy. He has trouble understanding why I need time to myself; he is an utterly social being and can't identify with how I feel. He eventually gives in to my insistence that I need a couple hours of quiet, to think and be alone. Despite his attempts to cover up his confusion, I can tell he still doesn't really get it, and is even taking it a little personally.

I spend the evening sketching, just letting whatever I feel come through my fingers, and it is good for me. It helps me get some perspective again, and refreshes me so I can continue to play my role as a happy, positive counselor to the campers.

The long weekend approaches, and Matt, getting over his hurt feelings, asks if I'll come to his parents' Fourth of July party with him. I do _not_ allow myself to think about Seattle, instead graciously accepting his invitation with a big smile and a teasing, "Well, _yeah_. I'd better be invited." It obviously pleases Matt, and his smile usual high-wattage returns.

The weekend is hot and so humid, even by Austin standards; we end up spending a good deal of it indoors, in the air conditioning at my house. My roommate Neil has gone away for the weekend with his girlfriend, and we have the house to ourselves. It's good for me, having time where we can do little or nothing, just be together without pressure or a schedule. Matt does suggest we go out to a club on Saturday night, but a crowded noisy club sounds like hell to me. Instead I convince him that we should stay in. I plug my iPod into the stereo dock, putting on a song with a throbbing beat. I draw him into the living room and grind against him until he sees the merits of remaining in close proximity to my bedroom.

On the holiday Monday we finally emerge from the refuge of my house, heading to Matt's parents' house. We spend the day lying by the pool, eating amazing Texas barbecue, meeting Matt's family and their friends. Matt's parents are very nice; friendly and hospitable. We also have a celebration for Matt's birthday, which is a few days later, on the Thursday. The alcohol flows freely – I don't have anything to drink, having offered to drive us back to work later tonight so that Matt can have some if he likes – the food is amazing, and everyone is completely gracious and welcoming, if a bit too raucous toward the end.

Which is why I feel like such an asshole every time I have to pull my thoughts back from a city far away, a city in the Pacific Northwest that has ferry boats and copious amounts of rain...and Jack. I can't help thinking about him; what he's doing while he's there, how he's dealing with things, whether his friends are taking care of him. I had planned to meet the people he talked about so often, had been so nervous hoping they would approve of me and think I was good enough for their good friend.

I guess that's one thing I don't have to worry about any longer.

We leave Matt's parents' house in time that we can get back to the camp before dark. Since we have to be at work the next morning, most of the staff members are each bringing a few items to contribute to a fireworks display, and the camp administrators have kicked in with some as well. A few of the guys are in charge of the display, setting up the fireworks in the sand on the beach so they'll explode over the lake. The rest of us stand and watch, clapping and cheering for everyone. When it's over, we have our usual bonfire. Matt and I again slip away early, and have one more night together in his cabin before the campers arrive tomorrow morning and another week and a half of imposed celibacy begins.

-o-

Tuesday night I'm pretty tired out, and I collapse into bed without bothering to open my laptop and check my email, as I usually do; so it is not until Wednesday night after the boys are in bed for the night, that an email from Jack pops up in my inbox. When I see his name in the sender field, my heart jumps into my throat. He didn't reply to the email I sent with the PayPal payment, and I didn't think I would hear from him again. With nothing in the subject line, I can't get the damn thing open fast enough to see what it's about.

_Jacey,_

_It's been a few weeks since you ended our relationship so suddenly. Now that I've had time to get my head back on straight, I'd like to have a conversation. I assume you get a few hours' break here and there – I'd appreciate it if you would call me when you do. I have a couple of questions, and a few things to say; things I was too blindsided to think of, last time I saw you. If you cared about me, as you say you did, I think I deserve that much._

_You know my schedule. Talk to you soon._

_Jack_

I stare at it for ages, reading and re-reading every word, analyzing them as well as the meaning behind them. _It's been a few weeks...now that I've had time to get my head back on straight..._ He hasn't been doing well, but he believes it's time for him to start to move on – whether he wants to or not. _I assume you get a few hours' break here and there..._ I never told him I did, that I could have been spending those hours on the phone with him instead of letting him believe I was busy. He must have figured it out; though; if so, he knows I wasn't trustworthy even in such a simple thing. _If you cared about me as you say you did_...this one especially stings. Of course I care; I always did, from the first weekend. He knows I care. _You know my schedule._ I know his schedule; up until a few weeks ago I knew every goddamn thing that was going on in his life. I know **him**. _Talk to you soon. _This part is not a request; it's an expectation.

I also take time to recognize the things the letter doesn't say. It doesn't say _I miss you_ or _I love you_. It doesn't say _I hate you for what you did to us_; it doesn't say _How could you throw away everything we had?_

I can't call him tonight, obviously; it's too late, and the kids are here, and it wouldn't be private; and I know it'll be emotional, at least on my end. The issue I have is that the next evening, the first opportunity I'll have to talk to Jack, is also Matt's birthday. The two hours we have together are such a precious short period of time anyway; but on the other hand, if I don't call Jack tomorrow I'll have to wait till Saturday night, and I don't know if I can stand the suspense for three full days. I want to talk to him, have the conversation he needs; I want to know what questions he has; I want to know that he's okay, or at least that he's going to be okay.

I toss and turn over it all night long, and even the next morning when everyone's in the mess hall having breakfast, it weighs on my mind. I know what I _should_ do; I should remember that it's my boyfriend's birthday today and think of how upset he'll be if I take time away from our evening together, and to call my ex, no less. On the other hand...I really, really want to get it over with, and won't that be better for both of us, if I don't have it weighing on my mind for the next few days?

Matt has a great day for his birthday; the weather is beautiful, and at dinner, all the campers and counsellors sing Happy Birthday. He grins madly as he holds my hand all the while, giving me a quick kiss at the end of the song. The boys in his cabin all give him cards they've made for him. He's in a great mood, and I hate knowing I'm about to spoil it for him.

When nine o'clock comes, Matt shows up at my cabin expectantly. "Well?" he says, unable to contain his smile. "What are _we_ doing tonight?"

I try to smile, but it comes out more as a grimace. "Well...there's something I sort of...have to do."

He grins wickedly. Leaning in close so the boys can't hear, he whispers, "Blow job down by the lake?"

"That _is_ a great idea," I offer, "and I will happily join you in a little bit at the lake. But first, I need to make a phone call."

He looks stumped. "A phone call? Who do you have to call?"

I sigh. "Please don't get mad, okay?"

"Jacey." His expression darkens. "_Who_ do you have to call?"

"Um...Jack sent me an email a couple of days ago..."

"Jack? _The_ Jack?"

"Of course _the_ Jack."

His expression turns from 'dark' to 'thunderous'. "Mind explaining why exactly you have to call your ex-boyfriend, or ex-arrangement-person, or whatever he was, on my birthday? Or why you have to call him at all?"

My hands clench a little; I fight the urge to get my back up at Matt's description of Jack, knowing he has good reason to be upset. "He sent me an email. He has some things to say that he didn't get a chance to say when I was there. And some questions. Everything happened pretty quickly that morning, and I can understand where he's coming from. He needs closure."

"He needs closure today? He asked you to call him tonight? What, did he know it's my birthday and he wants to ruin it?"

"Matt," I say, working to keep my voice steady as his escalates, "he has no idea it's your birthday. He asked me to call when I have a night off. I know tonight is your birthday, but it won't take me long, I promise. Then I'm all yours. Doesn't that sound better than fretting about it for the next two days?" He looks dubious, but it's obvious he's considering it. I allow a pleading tone to seep into my voice. "Please try to understand where I'm coming from, Matt."

He exhales, and I can see he's going to relent, but he's not happy. "Fine," he huffs. "Make your call. I'll be by the lake." He starts to leave, but stops and turns back to me. "I won't be waiting all night, though." Turning again, he heads off in the direction of the dock.

The conversation with Jack is more painful than I thought possible. I thought the actual act of ending it was the worst thing I'd ever done. Tonight I hear a cautious edge in Jack's voice, a barrier that never existed between us before, and it's agonizing to know that the wariness exists because he's protecting himself _from me._ It's logical, and I understand it, but it doesn't make it easier to hear it. I've destroyed the easy, comfortable rapport we had, turning it into something that makes Jack have to put on a hard shell before he can talk to me.

I answer the questions he asks, offering no more information than exactly what's requested. I know he'll ask if he wants me to expand upon something. The questions are direct; his remarks about sleeping with him and my less-than-honest behaviour toward him, are pointed indictments, and I break under them. When he asks if Matt treats me well, I can finally hear the heartbreak and longing creep into his voice, despite his efforts to remain detached. A moment later he tells me he loves me, and I'll be damned if I can stop myself from confessing that I still love him.

The conversation ends shortly after, and though I wish I could have an hour of quiet to process the conversation and compartmentalize everything, I need to put it aside and join Matt, as I promised. He has been so patient with me these last few weeks, despite the constant pall that's been cast over my life. What I told Jack is correct – Matt has been better to me than I deserve. Everyone has.

It takes a long time to calm myself after the call. I don't want to go back to Matt looking like a disaster, especially when he was already upset. It's nearly ten before I feel able to face him. Despite his warning that he wouldn't be there long, I do find him sitting on the dock, staring up at the waxing moon that is now dropping in the western sky. I walk the length of the dock and settle beside him. He doesn't acknowledge me; long moments pass with no words spoken until I break the silence.

"I'm sorry I ruined your birthday," I whisper.

He doesn't respond at first, continuing to look up into the sky. "You didn't ruin it," he finally replies. "I'm choosing to let the other parts of the day outweigh the last hour."

I feel the sting of his words and allow him the anger he feels.

He continues, "We still have an hour left. You could make it up to me."

"I can try. Any suggestions?"

"I made a suggestion earlier."

I swallow, trying to rid myself of the bile that has risen in my throat. He wants me to suck him off. When he suggested it at the beginning of our break, I totally would have done it without a second thought; that was before my conversation with Jack. Now the thought of it puts shards of icy fear into my stomach.

Nevertheless, I ignore them and lean in to kiss him, feeling his fingers thread through my long hair and grip the back of my head. He kisses me back, an edge to his kiss that hasn't been there before, as though he's claiming me...or trying desperately to hold on to something that's slipping away.

After a while I slide off the edge of the dock and into the shallow water, tugging on his hand to encourage him to come with me. We walk along the shore to where we can't be seen from the camp buildings, and I gently push him down onto his back on the ground, where the sand meets the grass behind a group of bushes. I unzip his pants enough to pull his cock out and I go down on him. I suck him slow and deep, trying to make it good, to atone for having upset him earlier. As he approaches his release, his hands again grip the back of my head and he thrusts into my mouth. He groans when he shoots his load down my throat, and I swallow around him, my hands under his ass, feeling it flex as he comes.

After he's finished and has zipped up his pants again, he pulls me up to him and kisses me deeply, tasting himself in my mouth. "Thanks, Jace," he murmurs. "I love you."

"Happy birthday," I reply, fighting the urge to grit my teeth at what seems to be developing into a regular nickname – unfortunately, a name I hate. I haven't asked him not to use it, because once or twice can be an anomaly. Four or five times is becoming a habit, and it's a habit I really don't want him to stick with. I decide I'll mention it to him soon – just not when he's coming down off an orgasmic high.

I lie with him until it's nearly eleven; then we head back up to the cabins where he kisses me goodnight. When he has disappeared into his cabin and I flop on the bed in mine, my thoughts can't help but stray back to Jack, replaying my conversation with him. _Because you're Jacey,_ he told me when I asked why he cared what happened to me. _You're not my Jacey anymore...but I love you._

_I love you too_. Acknowledging that, letting myself really feel it for the first time in weeks, my true feelings grab hold of me, stabbing long, undeniable fingers of honesty and enlightenment into my chest, grabbing hold, squeezing the breath from my lungs and tears from my eyes.

I've been so wrong, to believe I could, through sheer force of will, ignore what I truly want, who I love. I love Jack...so deeply, so completely. I know I left half my heart with him, and it's crying out now, suppliant to be made whole again – begging for Jack.

The truth – now that I let myself acknowledge it – is that Jack is the one for me; always has been, can only ever be the one. And even after I knew I loved him, I subverted it, telling myself I could change how I felt, that I'd found someone else who would be better for me. I've put myself and others through a great deal of grief, to make the discovery that just because someone _should_ be better-suited – closer in geography and in age, similar talents, similar schooling – what makes sense on paper doesn't necessarily translate into _The One_ when real life comes into play.

I refused to see it. I should have told Jack, in no uncertain terms, what I wanted from him, what I wanted for us, instead of making him try to guess. As soon as he told me he loved me, I should have jumped at the chance for monogamy, and made sure he knew exactly what I hoped for in the long term – not relied on him to come to that conclusion himself. I should have made the firm decision to go ahead and move to Chicago as soon as I got accepted for transfer to SAIC – and done so regardless of what Jack said. Sure, I hoped to live with him, but I could very well have gotten housing or a roommate, and gone anyways. I could have gotten a job for the summer...

And now it's too late. The damage has been done to my relationship with Jack. I have broken his heart and mine. I know Matt's will break too, because I can't remain with him now that I know this. How destructive, how selfish I've been on this rocky path to self-discovery. And once I end it with Matt, I will almost certainly be alone; for why would Jack forgive me now? After he slowly, cautiously let me into his life and finally opened up to me, finally told me he loved me, I lied to him and left him for someone else. Even if I told him what a mistake I made, that only he can ever be the one for me, what reason does he have to believe me? Why wouldn't he think that after I dumped him, my new relationship didn't work out and I was coming back to him as a runner-up?

As for Matt, I refuse to end things with him here, at camp. When we're off, a week from now, I'll tell him then; it'll at least give him a weekend before he has to go back to work.

I don't sleep well that night, and the next morning, despite my best efforts, even my boys can see that something's wrong. I thank them for being concerned, telling them I'm not feeling the greatest, and we go about our day as usual. We have a week left with this group, and the rest of that time I am mostly successful at suppressing my heartbreak, at least when the boys are awake. At night after they've gone to sleep, a melancholy comes over me, an aching emptiness that echoes within my soul. On my nights off, I join Matt; but I find it difficult to really interact with him much. I'm exhausted from trying to keep a cheerful demeanour in front of the kids; when I have time off, I just need to be still and be silent.

One moment when I'm finally silent no longer comes in the middle of the second week, when Matt calls me Jace again. I finally snap at him, telling him how much I hate that name. His eyes grow wide and hurt, and he looks in embarrassment at our companions around the card table before excusing himself and leaving. I immediately feel awful for being so tactless, especially considering what he has put up with from me; so I follow him outdoors to where he leans against the porch railing. I start to apologize, but he cuts me off, saying, "Don't. Whatever it is, I don't want to hear it right now." He vaults over the railing, landing on the grass a couple of feet below.

"Matt, please wait," I begin.

He interjects again. "No. I've waited enough. I'm done waiting." He's gone into the still, humid night air before I can say anything else.

The next day is Thursday, and no one has tonight off; since it's the last night of camp for this group, the farewell campfire is tonight. Throughout the day Matt keeps his distance; likewise at night. The next morning is a bit of a madhouse as the kids get their stuff packed up and ready to go home. The parents arrive at ten and remain till noon, seeing what the kids have been working on during their time here, before everyone loads up their SUVs and heads home. The camp always feels deserted and too-quiet on Friday afternoons after the kids have left; and it is in the midst of this too-quiet, when I'm tidying the visual arts building and getting things ready for next week, that Matt slips into the building. His shoulders are tense, his face unreadable.

"Drive you back to Austin?" he asks, standing by the door.

I raise my eyebrows in surprise. "If you're okay with that."

His only reply is, "Leaving at three."

"Okay. Thanks."

He nods, one short, curt nod, and then is gone out the door. I can't help feeling that, having planned to speak openly with him tonight about our relationship, he has the same plans in mind. My instincts are good, as when I get out of the car at my house, he follows me inside and sits at my kitchen table with a sad, serious expression on his face.

Our eventual demise doesn't take long. It's not loud or heated. He lets me speak first, at my request; and after many apologies, difficult admissions, some tears and a last hug, it's over. I tell him how sorry I am for having allowed this to happen; that I should have been honest with myself and with him. He admits he went against his better judgment by asking me to choose him when he knew I was in love with someone else. And we both agree that, at work, we'll continue to do things as we have – our two groups of kids will continue to have swimming time at the same time of day, because with the kids being close in age, it has worked well for the three groups we've already had. One change we do make is that Matt will switch his night off – there's no point in taking our night off together anymore, and one of our coworkers has been looking to trade so he can have the same night off as his girlfriend.

I call my mom the night of our breakup, to tell her what's happened. She is sympathetic and wonderfully supportive, as she always is. She asks if I want to come home for the weekend. I tell her of my plans to just stay at my house in Austin, enjoy some time alone; and naturally I do not have to explain to her why time to myself is so important – she understands completely because she knows me better than anyone in the world.

At work I go on trying to be the best counsellor I can for my guys, in spite of my sadness. I do appreciate having evenings to myself again; not having to feel as though I'm neglecting someone else if I want to spend the night just brooding in my bunk or losing myself in creativity. When I have time alone with my thoughts, I spend a lot of it trying to figure out a way that I could let Jack know how sorry I am, beg for his forgiveness. I just don't see how it could ever work out the way I want it to. Things between Matt and I are...well, civil, I guess, but awkward. We really don't discuss anything at all personal again after deciding to split; our only conversations pertain to work and to the campers. It is an uncomfortable realization, finding that I honestly don't miss him much; that I really didn't love him, that willing it to be true didn't make it so...in short, that I sacrificed my relationship with Jack and have absolutely nothing to show for it, aside from a very bruised heart and a guilty conscience.

Despite knowing that I have most likely lost Jack for good, I do decide that, with nothing keeping me in Austin, I just can't turn down the opportunity to attend SAIC. I discuss it with my mom, who agrees; in fact, she's thrilled that I've decided to go. The next weekend I'm home, I fill out the forms and send them to Chicago, with a check for the term's tuition; but I cannot find the acceptance letter from the school. I know I tucked it into one of my sketchpads one weekend, shortly after it arrived, when I thought I'd be going to Kingsland for the weekend; I planned to show it to my mom. The rest of the forms I put in my desk, which is exactly where I find them when I go to retrieve them. I didn't end up going to Mom's that weekend; but the letter should still be in my sketchpad. I never throw my sketches out, they get filed by date in boxes in my closet; and though I go through every single pad I've used in the past four months, I have no luck. I even turn my room upside down looking for it, going through any and all textbooks, novels, whatever I've touched since it came in, in case my memory is faulty. It's simply nowhere to be found. Not that they won't let me in if I show up without it; but I would love to have kept it for posterity, and it irritates the shit out of me that I've misplaced it.

And because I'm through lying to myself, I do admit – to myself only – that a small part of me clings to hope where Jack is concerned. Maybe, once I'm in Chicago, somehow I'll find a way to make it up to Jack, to show him that he is my one and only; that my heart belongs to him alone, for the rest of my life. Sometimes I lie in bed and swear I can feel him beside me, his arms holding me close. When I dream about him, we're together and happy. Waking up from those dreams, remembering the reality...the pain almost brings me to my knees.

-o-

The first two weeks in August bring the last group of campers to Texartopia. It's been such an eventful summer, it's hard to believe it's nearly over and I'll be heading to Chicago in a few weeks. After the final group say their goodbyes, the staff will have the weekend off, then head back to the camp for four days, to clean up from the summer season and pack everything away until next spring. My last group of guys are simply fantastic. All the kids have been great, but this bunch seem to have been gifted with a wicked sense of humour, and I am so grateful for them. They make me laugh, truly laugh, for the first time in weeks. It's so much easier to be something close to my usual self, with a comic relief team in my cabin. Bidding them goodbye at the end of their ten days is bittersweet; though the summer has been very rewarding from a professional perspective, I am very ready to put the personal bullshit that happened here, behind me. I'm also more than a little excited and nervous about moving to Chicago and starting at SAIC.

The last weekend before cleanup week, I spend in Austin, packing up my room and getting as much organized there as I can. My roommates have expressed that they'll be sorry to see me go; and I admit, I'll miss Neil a lot. He and I have become close over the last fifteen months of living together. I'll also miss my room, and the murals I spent so much time on. I borrow a friend's dSLR camera, with insanely high resolution, and take quite a few pictures of the murals from different angles, so I can have some decent-sized prints made for my portfolio. Fortunately I have found someone to move into my old room after I leave; I'm glad I won't have to pay for both places for a month or two, as I would never take off and leave them high and dry on the rent. The Sunday of that weekend, I decide to give myself a break and go out with Neil to my favourite Greek restaurant for lunch; goodness knows if I'll get another opportunity to eat here before I move.

Angelica comes to our table, and after she has taken our order, I let her know I'm leaving Austin. She says she'll miss her most loyal customer, and that I have to come back to see them when I'm home for a visit; I promise to do so. After Neil and I have inhaled an amazing lunch and I've adequately bemoaned that I won't be back for a long time, Angelica brings us a dessert on the house, and with it, our bill. We count out our cash and a generous tip for Ange; and while I finish my coffee, Neil excuses himself to visit the men's room. I'm looking out the window, lost in thought, when a male voice beside me says, "Excuse me - have we met somewhere before?"

"That's original," I remark dryly before turning to find the source of the voice.

"Well, perhaps not original," says a dark-haired, dark-eyed man standing beside the table. "Nevertheless, I've been trying to figure out for half an hour where I know you from. I thought maybe you would know."

As I peer at the man, I can't help feeling he's right. "Actually...you look familiar to me too. UT Austin campus?" I suggest.

"No, I didn't go there," he says, pursing his lips. His brow furrows in concentration.

At that moment Neil returns to the table, finding me and the mystery man staring at each other. "Jacey?" he says. "Everything okay?"

As soon as Neil starts to speak, recognition dawns on the man's face. "Your name is Jacey?"

"Yes."

"I know how I know you. Do you know Michael Newton, in Chicago?" he asks carefully.

My eyes widen. "Yes, I do."

"Michael is my boyfriend."

The light bulb goes on over my head as well. "Memorial Day weekend. I saw you on the street outside Oilcan's!" I pronounce as the piece slides into place. "You and Mike are together now?"

"Yeah," he smiles gently. "But hey, I'm sorry I interrupted your date..."

"Oh," I correct him immediately, "Neil is my roommate. We're just out for lunch."

"Actually," Neil says, "I have to run, because Sam's coming over and she's probably at the house by now. But I'll see you there later, okay?"

"Of course," I smile. "I'll see you."

Neil and the man nod at each other and then Neil leaves, waving goodbye to Angelica as he does. The man says, "I should probably introduce myself properly. I'm Nicolas Kouris."

"Jacey Dawes," I reply, shaking his hand. "Would you like to sit?"

"Sure," he says, sliding into the booth across from me.

"So you and Mike – that's great. Mike's a decent guy. How's he doing?"

"Doing very well," he replies, clearly unable to contain a warm smile as he thinks of his boyfriend. "And how are you? Is your boyfriend out of town this weekend?"

I look at him sharply, wondering how much he knows about me; but I assume, since he knows Mike, he knows Jack, and if he knows Jack, that certainly explain how he knew exactly who I was as soon as he heard my first name. I consider ignoring the question about my boyfriend, but quickly remind myself that I refuse to lie to myself or anyone else any longer. So I answer honestly. "Actually, I'm not doing so well. Matt and I aren't together anymore; not for a month or so."

Now it's Nicolas' eyes that widen; but to his credit, his verbal reaction is very kind. "I'm sorry to hear that, Jacey."

"You don't have to say that," I mutter.

"No, I mean it. I can't pretend I don't know about your relationship with Jack; and between what I've heard about that, and what you've just told me, it sounds like your summer has been awfully rough. And I _am_ sorry about that."

Somehow, he seems so genuine, I can believe he actually means it. "Thanks," I say in a strangled voice, tentatively adding, "How is Jack?"

"Actually, I haven't even met Jack myself yet. I'm going up to Chicago for a visit Labor Day weekend. So I don't know firsthand how he's doing, but..." He hesitates.

"Be honest," I whisper. "I can take it."

"Well, I don't think he's doing so great," he admits. "From what Michael has said, it's been pretty hard on him." I wince, thinking of my Jackie in pain; and Nicolas gives me a very sympathetic look. "Sorry."

"It's okay," I reply. "I asked for honesty."

A stilted silence descends, broken a few moments later when Nicolas looks at his watch. "Well, I'm sorry to run, but I have somewhere I have to be. It was good to meet you, Jacey. I hope things get better for you, I really do."

"Thanks," I reply awkwardly. "Good luck with...everything. You know – you and Mike."

"Thanks. Bye," he says, and slips out of the restaurant. Having already paid my bill, I leave as well, not realizing until I'm halfway home that I should have said goodbye to Angelica. I just wasn't expecting something like this, to run into someone who knows Jack, or at least knows of him, right here in Austin. I feel sort of dazed.

I look around me and spy a bench nearby. I decide to sit down and enjoy a little piece of Austin for a few minutes before I continue my preparations to leave this city I love so much. I watch the people who pass on the sidewalk – families, groups of friends, individuals out by themselves, older couples; everyone out enjoying the day, living their lives. I need to get back into the business of living.

I stand, ready to head back to my apartment, but my attention is drawn to my own reflection in a storefront window. I've been letting my beard grow in for a few weeks, just to try out something different. I've had the same look for nearly four years now, and I've grown tired of it. I'm not sure how I feel about the facial hair; perhaps I need to employ more drastic measures. The shop where I usually get my hair trimmed is only a few doors down from where I stand...

On a whim, I make a beeline for the door, the first steps into a new phase of my life.

-o-

**Music for this chapter is Worried Shoes, by Karen O (from the Where the Wild Things Are soundtrack – such an awesome soundtrack). S'on the blog. **

**Next chapter we'll rejoin Jack, to see how he reacts to the news about Jacey's dating status. **_**After Chapter 30 is posted**_**, DD will go on a brief hiatus, while I work on the one-shot story purchased by BeCullen and melooza in the FGB auction. I had originally committed to having that story written by the end of August; but because of the crucial juncture we are currently at in DD, I approached these two lovely women and asked what their preference was – if I should focus on the one-shot first, or write Ch 30 first, which would delay delivery of their one-shot. They graciously said I should work on Ch 30; and I appreciate their generosity very much, as I hope you will, too. :) The post-Ch 30 hiatus will be no more than a month; and in fact, I hope it will be quite a bit shorter, but I want to be generous with the estimate.  
**


	30. Chapter 30

**I tremble. **

-o-

_Jack_

"Matt and Jacey _broke up_?" I repeat in disbelief. "He's sure that's what Jacey said?"

"Nicolas said Jacey told him he and Matt aren't together." Mike's blue eyes are awash in sympathy as he shares what he knows with me.

"Oh my god," I murmur. "Is Jacey okay? How did he seem?"

"Nicolas says pretty bad off. He asked about you."

"He did?"

"He asked Nicolas how you are; Nicolas said he hasn't met you yet but from what he'd heard from me, you weren't doing too well. I'm sorry, Jack; I know he spoke out of turn. He probably shouldn't have told Jacey anything, but—"

"Mike, it's all right," I tell him. "He was in an awkward situation, and honestly, I don't care. It's not like I'm hiding from Jacey. He might as well know the truth. Did he say why they broke up?"

"No. Just that they haven't been together for about a month."

"Wow." A month. An entire month Jacey's been on his own; he has never called me or emailed to tell me. Maybe he really doesn't want me. "Mike...should I...call him? Or, go see him? What should I do?"

"This is up to you, Jack. I can't tell you what to do. I know you love Jacey, and I know you miss him; but from here, it has to be up to you. Loving and missing someone doesn't necessarily mean they're right for you; but it could. There's no way to know unless you talk to Jacey."

"He had a choice; he didn't choose me," I muse.

"I know, Jackie. I know it stings."

"Maybe it's because he didn't want me."

"Maybe. I can't say, because I'm not Jacey; I don't know what's been going on in his head. I just know that when you were with him, you were...incandescent. Happy, contented...peaceful. Whatever it takes for you to get that back – short of illegal drugs – I will support."

I sit, considering it for a long time. I know what I want to do, but I don't think i should jump into anything without at least sleeping on it. Mike takes his leave shortly after, letting me have some much-needed time alone with my thoughts. It's all I can think about all evening – the times Jacey and I spent together. I look again through the sketchbook, for the millionth time – as though I need to see it to remember; as though I don't already see Jacey's face every time I pass the chrome giraffe across the street from my building, or whenever I see baklava on a menu; or if someone is talking about a museum or anything related to the state of Texas. As if I don't imagine him beside me in my bed at night.

I have a cup of chamomile tea before bed, hoping it will help soothe me a bit, enough to fall asleep. Despite my rattled nerves, when I do drop off, I manage to sleep quite soundly.

I wake in the morning to find that my thoughts on how I want to proceed haven't changed: I have to see him, and I'm going to go to Austin to do it. I've thought about my mom and dad's experience, when Dad made a mistake. I've considered Edward and Jasper's relationship (and the irony is in no way lost on me, when I remember having told Jasper that he should consider taking Edward back. How easy it is to give advice to someone else, when one isn't in that situation). Is it imprudent to pick up and go to Austin? Maybe it is. Maybe I'm being rash, and I'll only open myself up to having my bruised heart slammed again, if he tells me he doesn't want me; but I have to ask. I took it for granted before, when he was mine, that he would stay with me, that we'd just be together. I thought I knew how he felt. I was wrong. I've learned my lesson: I will never again assume anything where Jacey is concerned. If there's even a little chance, you bet I'm in.

I have to go through my old emails, back to April when Jacey first emailed me his schedule for the summer. I remember that the final week staff are at the camp is a cleanup week, to tidy and put things away for the end of the season, but I don't remember exactly when his last week of work is. I find the email and realize that the cleanup week is actually this week. Jacey's last day of work is Thursday.

That actually doesn't work out too badly, because there's no possible way I can get away from work before Friday. One of my fellow brokers is on vacation this week, and I'm looking after his clients as well as my own. However, during the months of July and August, Fortunatus closes at noon on Fridays. Perhaps I can find a flight on Friday afternoon.

Once my plans are in place, I call my mom, Jasper and Edward, and Kathleen and Ashton – not to ask their advice, but to tell them what I've decided on. My mom is supportive of me; she reminds me of the conversation we had when she was here last month, and tells me to follow my heart. Kathleen and Ashton's reaction is one of caution. They're not discouraging, exactly. They're just not convinced it's the right thing to do; but then, hell, neither am I. Jasper has the most emphatic reaction – he thinks it's a bad idea. I'm a little surprised at how strongly he reacts, and I gently remind him that when he and Edward broke up he had some tough decisions to make too. Edward is the one who truly seems to understand; maybe because he was there with me when I found the sketchbook. It gave him some insight into Jacey that the others haven't had. He saw Jacey's soulful interpretations of our time together, one artist to another; he understood the feeling in them, the love that went into every line, every shadow.

Even knowing Edward's thoughts on how Jacey felt about me, the point of my trip isn't necessarily to ask him to take me back. For one thing, I don't really think I'm the one who should be asking that question; and Jacey's feelings are a complete unknown. No, I just need to see him. I need to look into his eyes and see for myself.

I end up paying a lot for a last-minute ticket, and after work Friday I sprint straight to O'Hare, taking care to be certain I have with me the sketchpad he left, as well as his acceptance letter from SAIC. At the very least I can return the letter to him. All the way to Austin I fight the urge to prepare what I want to say to Jacey. I'm so fucking tired of planning everything to the last detail. It's fine for something like finding my way to work, but the single greatest success of my life – my career – is done with smart, savvy responses to unknown situations. Maybe, instead of over-thinking, it's time to trust myself and let my instincts steer me in the right direction.

In Austin I rent a vehicle at the airport. I drive straight to Jacey's house and with trembling hands I knock at the kitchen door.

It's not Jacey who comes to the door – it's his roommate, Neil. His eyes widen as he takes me in. "Jack," he says with surprise. "Um...hi."

"Hey, Neil," I greet him. "How are you?"

"I'm doing well. Sorry...I'm surprised to see you. How are you doing?"

"All right," I shrug. He gives me a look that says he doesn't believe me but is too polite to contradict. "Is Jacey here?"

"I'm sorry; Jacey's in Kingsland this weekend, Jack."

"Oh." I can't hide my disappointment; but I've come too far to be discouraged by a simple thing like geography. It's late now, or at least late enough that it's too late to drive all the way out to Kingsland to show up unannounced. I thank Neil for his help and head off to find a hotel for the night. I find a place on the west side of the outskirts of Austin, and in the morning, after eating and buying a map, I head to Kingsland.

Of course, even after I find the small town, I have no idea how to get to the Dawes' home. However, I figure there can't be that many flower shops in a small town like this one, so I decide to start with Jacey's mom Leah.

The first business I pass on my way into the small town is a little motel. Rather than drive aimlessly around hoping to find Leah's store, I stop and ask directions.

"Excuse me," I ask the middle-aged woman behind the counter. "I'm hoping you can help me. "I'm looking for a particular flower shop in Kingsland, but I don't know the name of it."

"Well, now," she replies with a drawl, "what makes it particular if you don't know the name?"

"I do know the name of the owner," I clarify. "Leah Dawes?"

Her face relaxes into a smile. "Ah, now that would be LeeLee's Petals. I know Leah does a lovely job, but I didn't know she was attracting attention all the way up North."

I can't help smiling at the speculative gleam in the woman's eye. "How do I get to her shop?" I ask politely.

The woman gives me directions that sound simple enough. After thanking her I get back into the car and continue into town, crossing a couple of bridges over a river and ending up in the town. Even without the directions of the woman at the hotel, I can see I'd have found the building with little difficulty; it's right on the main street. I park a little way down the street and walk back the half-block to the store. It's probably the most visually-noteworthy building on the block, the stucco painted in a light pink. "Art Deco in the Southwest," Jacey had once told me, "in a town where almost no one knows what Art Deco is." I push open the door and step inside, the cool air rushing out to greet me.

The small shop is busy. Two employees work at the front counter while others are visible through a large glass window in the back of the store, working on arrangements. Another woman with long brown hair is out on the floor, concluding a conversation with a patron.

"Okay, Phyllis?" she says. "You take that over to Melissa and she'll ring it up for you."

"Thank you, Leah," the older woman says. "Have a good day, dear."

The name catches my attention and I turn to look at the woman more closely, just as she turns to me.

Her eyes widen as she takes in the sight of me, and I see in her eyes something resembling recognition. She starts to speak, hesitates and then says, "Jack?"

Now my eyes are the ones to widen. "I beg your pardon?"

"Are you Jack?" she asks uncertainly.

"Yes," I reply. "And you're Leah."

"I am." We stand looking at each other awkwardly until the silence starts to become uncomfortable. Finally she says, "I recognized you from Jacey's sketches."

"Of course." There is another long pause before I speak again. "How is he?"

Her face is thoughtful. "He's..." She struggles for the right words, finally deciding on, "It hasn't been a very good summer. He's having a hard time of things. And how about you, Jack? How have you been?"

I can't help the wince that crinkles my face, and Leah doesn't miss it. "Wait – hold that thought," she says, before ducking into the back room of the shop. She re-emerges with her purse and says to one of her employees, "Melissa, I have to run out for a bit." She crosses back to where I stand near the door, and links her arm through mine. "Jack," she says, "let's take a walk.

I follow her out, back onto the sun-baked sidewalk. "Where are we going?"

By way of answering my question, she asks, "How do you feel about ice cream?"

-o-

A few minutes later we are seated across from each other in the booth of an old-fashioned ice cream shop, one that has an honest-to-goodness soda counter. We place orders for ice cream sundaes – caramel for Leah, strawberry for me – and after the young woman brings them to us I remark to Leah, "I don't usually have ice cream at 10:30 in the morning."

She grins, and in the quirk of her impish smile I see Jacey looking at me. The eyes are the wrong color – hers are brown – but the lines of the face are all the same. "I don't make it a habit either," Leah admits, "but this is a special case."

"Yes, I suppose that's true," I agree.

"So," she begins, "What brought you to Kingsland today, Jack?"

"I came in the hopes of seeing Jacey." It's strangely easy to be honest with this woman who knows and loves Jacey so well.

"It's been a few months since your breakup," she remarks. "Is there something in particular that made you travel so far, now?"

"Yes, I heard a few days ago that Jacey and Matt didn't work out. I guess I came to see if that's true."

"And if it is?"

I sigh. "I don't know. All I know with certainty is that I love your son, Leah. I love him in a way that consumes me. I haven't felt whole since the day he ended it, and maybe I should be able to put him out of my mind, but I can't. He's with me all the time, here." I place my hand over my heart.

She looks sympathetic. "I'm sorry for how much you were hurt by him, Jack. I know it was Jacey's decision to end it, but I can't help feeling a little bit responsible for it."

"Because you didn't approve?" I guess.

"Actually, that's not it at all. I admit, when I first found out he was flying up here to stay with you, I was concerned; and even more so when I realized he'd already done so once, in January. It scared me that he would go off and do that without letting me know; that something could happen and I wouldn't even know he was out of town or how to get in touch with him if I couldn't reach his cell. And he did sort of spring that information on me; it took me by surprise to find out he was seeing anyone at all, let alone an older guy in another city.

"But no, I could tell, the more he talked about you, that you're a decent person; serious, hard-working, and that you really cared for him. I was floored when he told me he'd ended it."

"You don't say," I mutter.

Leah gives me a deeply sympathetic look before continuing. "I couldn't understand what made him choose someone else until we were driving home from the airport...he came here that day after he got back from Chicago, did you know that?"

I shake my head.

"Yeah. He called me from O'Hare and asked if I'd come get him and bring him home here for the rest of the weekend. Anyway, we were driving and talking, and he said something that struck me. Like, jumped up and shook me by the shoulders."

"What did he say?"

"He said that being in a long distance relationship, not knowing when he'd see you again, so much open and undecided between you, that it wasn't _practical. _ It was that word – practical. That's what caught my attention. It's what made me feel guilty."

"Why would _that_ make you feel guilty?" I ask, mystified.

"Jack, I'm sure Jacey has told you a bit about what our life was like when he was growing up. We didn't have a lot. Actually, that's an understatement – our budget was so tight it squeaked. Until I opened up my own store, with the bit of money I inherited from my father, we had very few luxuries. I used to bring him here, one Saturday night a month and we'd each get a sundae. That was our real treat."

"I do remember him telling me about that, actually," I offer.

"Right. So I often was faced with making a decision between want versus need; if I was thinking about spending money on something, was it something we wanted or something we needed? There was almost always something we needed more than the thing we wanted. Oh, we did splurge once in a great while; but usually, I would end up explaining to Jacey that we had to do what was practical. Bless his heart, he understood; he never complained about not having all the luxuries his friends had." She pauses, her eyes staring off into the distance as she remembers a young Jacey. "It got to the point where he asked me a few times, when we were buying something, if I was sure it was practical." She chuckles, and it is followed by a sigh. "He took on a lot more responsibilities than most kids his age. I felt guilty sometimes; but it's not as though he didn't have a childhood. It's just that we had to be a team. Anyway...where I think I messed up was that I never told him that when it comes to love, all those bets are off; that _practical_ isn't – shouldn't be – your primary consideration. Love doesn't care about practical. As long as there's mutual respect, and as long as it works for both people, then the practicalities are secondary. They work themselves out.

"Now that I think about it, I didn't even lead by example. I always kept him sheltered from my relationships and when he did know about them, I was clear that there was one practical matter that would always take precedence, and that was Jacey's happiness. Providing a stable life for him, making sure he was confident and secure, knowing he was first in my life – those were my priorities. I don't regret that, mind you; it was the right thing to do."

"I agree with you," I offer.

"I didn't foresee this, though. I can't help wondering if I was negligent, if I overlooked something I should have known..."

"Leah, if I may say so, I don't think you could reasonably have foreseen this. You did what you thought was right for Jacey. If it _was_ a small oversight, it's a trifle compared to how loving and balanced and responsible you were for your son – especially as a young single mom."

She smiles sadly. "Thanks, Jack. Perhaps it would be easier to tell myself that if all of this hadn't happened to Jacey's detriment, and to yours; and now to Matt's as well."

"So it's true, then; Jacey and Matt" – I try not to grimace at his name – "did break up."

"It's true," she confirms.

"Matt didn't, like...he didn't hurt Jacey, did he?"

"Do you mean did he physically harm him?" she clarifies.

"Yeah."

"No, no. It was nothing like that."

"I've just been trying to figure out why it ended so soon," I muse.

Leah purses her lips. "That's really not up to me to talk about, Jack."

"No, of course," I quickly correct. "I wouldn't ever expect you betray Jacey's confidence. Just thinking out loud, really. Hell, I don't know if he even wanted me to know about this, let alone see me again or talk to me."

Leah pushes her now-empty bowl toward the outer edge of the table. "Well, I guess there's only one way to find out, right? You need to go talk to him."

"Does that mean you'll tell me where he is?" I ask hopefully.

"I will," she replies. She pulls a small notebook and pen from her purse and starts to draw me a little map. I'll continue driving up the street we're on, going straight through town and continuing to the north, before making a turn onto a side road; their house isn't far along the side road. After she's illustrated the directions for me and paid the bill for our mid-morning ice cream snack, we walk back out to the street and she accompanies me to my rental car.

"Leah," I tell her, "thank you for everything. I don't know what's going to happen, but I'm glad I got to meet you."

She gives me a hug, murmuring, "Whatever happens, Jack, you take good care of yourself, okay?"

"I will," I reply before getting into the car. As I pull away, I wave, telling her, "Thanks again." She returns the wave, and I'm off.

As I drive north, through the outskirts of the town and out into the countryside, I can feel my nerves mounting. It's been over two months since I saw Jacey; nine weeks today. Nearly seven weeks since I spoke to him. Leah was certain he's home, which means in just a few minutes I'll be with him. I turn off the main road onto the side road, observing the street signs and vaguely wondering what the difference is between a ranch road and a farm to market road. Another few moments and I see the name Dawes on a mailbox, at the end of a longish driveway. Rather than turn in, I pull over to the shoulder of the road and park there, getting out to walk up the lane.

The day is hot. Especially now that the sun is directly overhead, the bright glare is intense. Given that, it's not surprising how dry everything is here; even where the grass is sort of green, there's an underlying brown that shows through. As I walk up the dirt driveway, carrying the sketchpad with the letter tucked inside it, little curls of dust rise from my steps. The only sounds here are those of nature – a hot breeze blowing, grasshoppers singing in the tall grass that flanks one side of the driveway.

The driveway ends at the front corner of the older looking ranch-style house. I cross the walk to the front door and knock on the storm door. The glass on the storm door is closed; I assume they have air conditioning on inside. I don't hear any sound or movement from within; but the inside door stands open, which tells me Jacey must be here somewhere. I knock a second time, to no avail. I decide to try around the back, and head back to the driveway and onto the walkway that disappears behind the house.

As I round the back corner, a patio comes into view, with several lounge chairs under an awning that shades the patio from the midday sun, and there he is. Angled away from me, stretched out in one of the lounges, he's drawing. He's wearing cut-offs and no shirt, his long bare legs and arms browned from the sun, his knees drawn up as the ubiquitous sketchpad rests on his thighs. A side table is next to him, with several pencils, a large glass of ice water and his cell phone. His cowboy hat is perched on the back of his head, blocking my view of his head and face, but there's absolutely no doubt it's him.

Jacey.

I back away, back around the corner to the side of the house where he couldn't see me even if he turned around, and I lean against the wall of the house for support. I'm overwhelmed with emotion at seeing him again, and it takes me a moment to calm myself. I don't want to creep around for long, though, and an idea occurs to me. I pull out my cell phone, and scroll to a long-unused number – Jacey's cell phone number. Taking a deep breath, I press send, and ease around the corner again to watch him.

The phone first vibrates once, clearly audible as it rattles the little metal table, and then the ringtone begins to play. I see Jacey's hand reach toward the phone, slowly, as though he's still absorbed by his work; but he freezes at the same time I do, as each of us registers the ringtone playing.

The song...it's Loverman. He hasn't changed the ringtone since we were together – it's still the one he chose for me all those months ago.

Jacey's hand remains frozen in mid-air for a moment, and then he scrambles, sitting bolt upright in the lounge, tossing his sketchpad and pencil toward the foot of the chaise. He swings his legs over to the ground, grabs the phone and jumps up, peering at it. He's nearly facing me now, but his attention is on his phone. His finger stabs at the face of the phone before he raises it to his ear. "Hello?" he says urgently. I don't reply, and hearing nothing he repeats it. "Hello? Damn it..."

"Hello," I finally answer, stepping all the way around the corner and into full view, about ten feet away from him. He can't help but see me now, and he looks up, his mouth open. His face is colored with shock.

"Jack?" he rasps. "You...what...how...?"

I attempt a small smile, and fail miserably. "Hi, Jacey." He covers his mouth with one hand as intense emotion starts to outweigh his surprise; his grey-blue eyes shine with tears that swim above his dark eyelashes.

"Oh my god," he whispers. "It's really you...I can't believe...I was surprised when I thought you were just on the phone, but this...I never dreamed..."

"It's good to see you," I tell him honestly. It _is_ good; even though he has a hint of darkened circles under his eyes, and I'm quite certain he's lost some weight. To be honest, he looks a little haggard. But he's still Jacey, and Jacey is beautiful.

His tears finally spill over, tumbling down his cheeks. "You don't know how much I've wanted to see you again."

"No, I don't," I agree. "I didn't know if you'd want to see me at all, actually, but..." I reach into the front cover of the sketch book to pull out the letter from SAIC, letting it fall open as I hold it up to him. "I thought you would want this back."

His eyes widen as he recognizes the letterhead. "You had it?"

"It was in this," I reply, indicating the sketchbook. Hesitantly he takes a few steps toward me, then stops. "It's yours," I tell him, shaking it a bit, encouraging him to take it. Coming closer, he gently takes it from me.

"I have turned my room upside-down looking for this," he murmurs. "I knew I'd tucked it into a sketchbook, but I didn't think it was this one – I must have gotten them mixed up."

"Well, now you have it back," I reply.

"Yeah," he says slowly, nodding. "Thank you. It was really good of you to bring it back." After an awkward pause, during which he looks only at the letter in his hands, he adds, "You could have just mailed it, though; you didn't have to make a special trip just for this."

"I didn't make a special trip for the sake of the letter."

He looks up, his eyes hopeful but guarded. "You were...down here anyway?" he says.

"I made a special trip to see you," I tell him pointedly.

His breath catches slightly in his throat, and he looks away again. "W-why?" he asks haltingly.

"I heard from Nicolas."

"Ah...right. So you heard Matt and I didn't last, and what? You came here to remind me of everything I gave up?" he asks, hope replaced by bitterness. "Well, it's no less than I deserve, after hurting you _and_ Matt."

"Jacey," I say sharply, and he finally looks up. "I came here to find out of it was true. I came here because I had to see you. I came because, frankly, I couldn't stand the thought of living the rest of my life without asking...I don't even know what I want to know. If you're okay? If you have any regrets about ending our relationship?"

"Oh my god," he cries, his voice choked with tears. "If I have regrets? Jack, _all I_ _have_ is regret. That's all there is left! Happiness – gone. Hope – gone. Love – gone. I traded it all – gave it away wilfully. I knew better, and I allowed myself to ignore what I knew. I lost myself, and then I lost you. So, no. I'm not okay."

Startled at first by his sudden outburst, I listen as he admits the truth; when his final admission hangs between us, I can no longer hold back. I toss the sketchbook to the ground beside me, fling my arms around him and pull him close. He immediately buries his face in my neck as we hold each other so tight, tears flowing freely from both of us. The familiar scent I love so much floods my senses; his body, thinner though it is, presses against me for the first time in so long. We cling to each other for many long moments, both unwilling to let go or loosen our grip even slightly. "I'm sorry," he sobs, his voice muffled, "I'm sorry, I'm sorry."

"Shhh," I whisper, reaching to remove his hat from his head; it's nearly off anyway and I want to stroke that beautiful hair he's hiding beneath it. I toss the hat to the ground, reach up...and find his neck exposed and naked. My hand slides up a bit, gliding over short, neatly-trimmed hair on the back of his head. I gasp, and pull back a bit to look at him.

He slides back a bit too, keeping one arm around my waist while with his other hand he wipes his face. "What?" he asks, his voice still thick.

"Your hair...it's...gone!"

"Oh," he nods blearily. "Yeah. It was sort of a spur of the moment thing. By the way, all those articles that say a new haircut does wonders for your mood, are for shit; I don't know why women buy that stuff." He looks up at me. "You don't like it?"

"Actually," I take a closer look, inspecting him from one side then the other, "it looks really good. I just never imagined you without your long hair." It does look good; he's still as beautiful as ever, and looks unquestionably older. It's quite short in the back, but a bit longer on top. Just different and unexpected.

"You know what," he says, "it's hotter than hell out here. Let's go inside and talk."

"Sure," I agree.

He leads me across the patio and through the back door into the kitchen. The cool air is a welcome respite from the oven that is a Texas summer. Jacey pours us each a glass of iced tea. We carry them into the living room and settle onto the couch facing each other.

"So," he begins, "I'm not naïve enough to think that one apology can erase what I did. When I remember the pain on your face the day I left your apartment...and think about your voice on the phone when we talked. You had always been so open with me, even when you were telling me something you knew wasn't what I wanted to hear. You didn't hide who you were from me. But that night we talked, you sounded so cautious, so guarded. I know that was because of the hurt I caused you...sometimes I can hardly stand it." He pauses, looking down at his fingers as they knot together in his lap; his face is wracked with pain. "I made the biggest mistake of my life when I left you. The truth is...I love you. I've loved you since I came to Chicago in January, and I will always love you. I know, after what I did, there may not be any way for you to forgive me; and if that's true I'll accept it. If you leave today telling me you never want to see me again, I'll leave you alone. But it won't change how I feel about you. This is..." He shakes his head, clutching his hands to his chest. "This is forever." Fresh tears slide from beneath his lowered eyelids.

My heart jumps in my chest with his admission. At last, an answer to the question that has haunted me for months. _He loves me._ He looks small and tired; he looks like he has been through the wringer and his last bit of hope is slipping away. But he is _my_ Jacey.

A lump rises in my throat. "I don't want to walk away. I don't want you to leave me alone. Jacey, I _want_ to be with you. And in the interest of full disclosure, I wanted you to spend the summer with me in Chicago – I just didn't think I could stand to let you go back to Austin when the summer was over." He looks up to meet my eyes, just as I add, "But now...I don't...trust you."

He grimaces, nodding slowly, needing no explanation. "I deserve that. I ruined the trust you had in me, misleading you and cheating on you."

"You weren't honest with me about the nature of your relationship with...Matt."

"I wasn't honest with _myself_. I should have admitted to myself right away that I couldn't separate sex and love. I don't have that ability, like you do..."

"Well," I admit, "I've lost it too. Once I realized I'd had the two together, they were inextricably linked; I had no desire to simply fuck around again."

"Really?" he asks.

"Jacey, let me tell you something. You and I never ordered pizza when you were in Chicago; but this summer Mike and I went to this place and had real Chicago deep dish pizza. This stuff...it's like nothing I've ever had. It's deep, of course – more like a casserole than a pizza. It's steaming hot, gooey, and delicious. Made it damn near impossible to go back to those frozen pizzas out of a cardboard box, even though I used to think they were fine. Being with you was the best sex I've ever had in my life; but it was more than that. It was hot and steamy, it was delicious, it was messy..." Here he finally quirks a bit of a smile, and I grin with him. "And it was satisfying. It didn't just fill a need; it nourished my soul. It was making love, Jacey, long before I told you I loved you. Going back to _hookups_ after that...I used to think they were fine, but when I realized I loved you, they became flat, meaningless. There was nothing to savor. Like a frozen pizza."

"I have to say, this is the weirdest euphemism for sex I've ever heard," Jacey mutters, but it's clear he's pleased with my description of our intimate encounters.

I allow myself a small grin before continuing. "The point is, I was never with anyone else after I visited you in Austin, when I told you I loved you. I had no desire for anyone else. I _wanted_ to wait for you, Jacey. I knew the waiting would be difficult, but the reunion would be that much better as a result."

"You weren't with anyone else..." he murmurs. "You didn't tell me..."

"Well, I did ask, in Austin, for us to be exclusive. I thought then the reason you said no was because you didn't think I _could_ abstain while we were apart. I was going to tell you, Fourth of July weekend, that I'd been waiting for you." I swallow. "But we didn't see the Fourth of July." It's the truth; I don't attempt to sugarcoat it.

"Just when I think I have a grasp on all the ways I fucked up," he mutters, "I find new layers of shit to sort through."

"What it comes down to is this: I do love you. I haven't stopped loving you since you left. I've never stopped wishing for you. But you did exploit my trust, and the consequence of that is that I don't have faith in you now. And honestly, Jacey, what else has changed from our previous situation? I'm still in Chicago, and you have two more years of school here in Austin. I just don't see how we can work on us, when what broke us in the first place hasn't changed."

"Oh," he says, pulling back slightly and peering at me. "No, I'm not going back to UT. I accepted SAIC, Jack; I'm moving to Chicago in a week."

"Y-you're coming to Chicago?" I sputter.

"You saw the letter," he says. "I figured you knew this."

"Yeah, I saw the letter, but I mean, I didn't know...that was when I thought you were still with Matt. And your mom didn't say anything so I assumed you were staying put."

"You talked to my mom?" he exclaims. "When?"

"This morning. I went to her shop, hoping she'd tell me where to find you."

"Okay, I figured you just looked it up in the phone book or something."

"Uh, yeah. I guess that would have been a good idea, if I'd thought of it."

"So...what did you talk about?" he asks.

I hesitate, not knowing how much of our conversation Leah would want me to share with Jacey. "She took me for ice cream," I offer, to which Jacey almost grins. "She gave me some good insight; and, of course, directions to get here."

"I still can't believe you're here," he murmurs, starting to reach out as if to touch my face, but pulling his hand back. I catch his hand, and place it on my face, closing my eyes to enjoy the indulgence of feeling the warmth of his palm against my skin.

Eyes still closed, I whisper, "You've got a place to stay already, I assume?"

"Yeah," he replies quietly, his fingers continuing to trace soft lines across my cheeks and forehead. "Everything is set. I came to spend one last weekend here in Kingsland, with my mom, before leaving Texas. When she gets home from work, we're going out for dinner."

"If I hadn't come here today, would you have called me or come to see me, once you got to Chicago?"

"I didn't think I had the right to, and yet...yes, I would have. I would have come to ask for your forgiveness. Even though I knew we'd probably said it all when we talked in July, I would have asked if there was any way I could make it up to you. If there was any possibility you could love me again...I'd hang onto it forever, Jack."

"I want you to," I whisper. "When you get there. Come see me. I've missed you so much. I'm not making any promises, but...I want to trust you again, Jacey. I want to have the chance to trust you."

His hand is withdrawn from my face, and I open my eyes to find both of his hands covering his own face, his shoulders shaking with silent sobs. I feel quite compelled to join him, tears welling in my own eyes. For the first time in what feels like forever, I have the prospect of real happiness again. I reach out and grasp his shoulders, tugging him to me; I recline flat out on the couch, wrapping my arms around him and holding him close to my chest. I run my fingers experimentally through his shorter locks, deciding I like the way it feels. I know we still have much to discuss; I'm sure the coming weeks and months will hold uncomfortable or difficult conversations. I haven't kissed him yet, either. But it's okay. Right now, this is enough. It is much more than I allowed myself to hope for, when I embarked upon this trip.

I am satisfied.

-o-

**::big exhale:: **

**You just don't know how long this has been playing out in my head. I'm hope you are as satisfied as Jackie is. For now, I am. **

**Music for this chapter is Love For Granted, by Phoenix. I totally blew off Saturday Jackspiration this past week; sorry about that. ::blushes:: **

**So, as I mentioned in my last update, we have now come to the point where I must take a short hiatus from Jack and Jacey. I have begun working on my FGB oneshot and will now devote my attention to it till it's finished. I estimate that Chapter 31 of Deep Dish will be posted by September 30. Also, I have decided that I am going to (**cringe**) **_**not**_** reply to DD Ch 29 reviews. I'm sorry. :( I have a ton of them in my inbox, and I've read every one of them, I promise; I will start again with replying to Ch 30 reviews. **


	31. Chapter 31

**Aaaaand we're back! :) I'm know it's a bit later than Sept 30, and I apologize for my tardiness. I appreciate your patience and support through all of this. Thanks to everyone who read If 6 Was 9, a pre-Deep Dish AU I posted earlier in September. ****It is **_**very**_** AU from DD, but it was well-received and I'm glad you enjoyed it. **

-o-

_Jack_

My first year in college was the first time I really experienced autumn. I walked around in Boston those first few months, continually awe of the cooler, clean air and the beautiful maple trees that changed from lush green to orange, yellow and red. I enjoyed each of the following three autumns just as much. Though I appreciated the arrival of spring, since it signaled when the long cold winter was finally over, fall remained my favorite season.

In Seattle, the weather varied wildly between drizzly and mild to drizzly and cold. I loved the city for different reasons, but when I came back to Chicago, I was excited to be back in a city where I'd get to experience fall again.

Autumn in Chicago does not disappoint. The September days are still warm; a sultry sort of haze hangs over the city, occasionally broken up by the breeze off Lake Michigan. The evenings become cooler and they lead into a beautiful October, with crisp weather and changing leaves. The sky is a brilliant blue most days. Instead of using a treadmill in the air conditioned gym, I go back to running outdoors and love every minute of it. Our games of pickup basketball resume at Wendt Play Lot. I pull out my favorite cashmere sweaters. Generally speaking, I enjoy the hell out of it.

Things at work are going very well. The recovery of the economy, though slow, has been steady enough that people are starting to invest more in the stock market again. The general morale of the office, which has been reasonably good since I began, improves even more. My coworkers also comment on my own improved spirits. In particular, my two assistants Jenna and Susan have had a front row seat to my general demeanor since I started working here. It doesn't matter that I've tried hard to keep my personal life removed from work – they work closely with me every day. They've watched me go from bitter and lonely when I first moved here, to happiness as I realized how I loved Jacey. They saw me walk around in numb shock that first week after we broke up, and witnessed my descent into lonely despair for the duration of the summer. Susan in particular is very insightful, and being about fifteen years older than me, she has taken on the role of a sort of mother hen. She isn't pushy about it, but has been good at deflecting unnecessary crap so I didn't have to deal with it when things were bad. She remarks around mid-September that she's glad to see me smile again. I thank her and we don't mention it again; but the next day I have a bouquet of flowers delivered for her and one for Jenna.

All that being said, it's safe to add that I might not be looking at life quite as positively if not for the changes that have happened since my trip to Austin.

_Leah came home after the store had closed for the afternoon to find us asleep on the couch still wrapped up in each other's arms. She and Jacey had plans to go out for dinner that night, as he'd mentioned. She eventually woke us up, when it was time for Jacey to start getting ready. Of course they both invited me to stay and go out to dinner with them, but I declined. It was to be their last __night out before Jacey moved to Chicago. They'd been so close for so long – no way was I going to intrude upon that. _

_Instead I told them that as much as I appreciated the invitation I would instead return to Austin and crash for the night before flying back to Chicago. Now that I'd seen Jacey and we'd talked about a few things, and especially knowing he was coming to Chicago, I felt a sense of peace I hadn't in months. I didn't feel desperate anymore. I knew that in a few weeks – days, really – Jacey and I would be in the same city again, and this time it would be on a somewhat-permanent basis. At last we'd have the kind of time we should have had all along. We wouldn't be scrambling to fit as many things as possible into 72 hours before one of us flew off again. We could take our time and get to know each other, knowing there would be a next time that wouldn't be weeks or months away. _

_Jacey was hesitant to let me go. He walked with me to my rental car, still on the road at the end of their driveway. Both of us were quiet, not knowing quite what to say in the few moments we had left. Eventually I did ask where he'd be living once he arrived in Chicago. He replied that he'd arranged to live in one of the SAIC residences at 162 N. State Street. Outwardly I simply smiled and said, "Sounds great." Privately I hoped I'd be spending some time there in the future. I made a mental note to learn more about what was in the area of the residence. I had a general idea where it was – in fact, it wasn't all that far away from my office building. When we got to my car I unlocked it and put the key in to open up the windows, let the heat out for a moment. Turning to him, I leaned back against the car and said, "So..."_

_He gave me a small smile, repeating, "So..."_

"_When do you leave Austin?"_

"_Early the morning of September 1__st__," he replied. "My stuff should be delivered to the residence the next day." _

_I nodded, feeling awkward, not knowing what to say. He inched closer and said, "I'll call you when I get settled."_

"_Good," I said. We stood a moment longer in silence. "Okay. Then I'll talk to you in a couple of weeks."_

"_Okay." Finally the moment came where we couldn't just stand there any longer. I reached out and pulled him into a close hug, and as I held him tight, he said, "Thank you. I'm so glad you came." _

"_Next time I see you," I added, "we'll be living in the same city."_

"_I can't wait," he replied, releasing me and stepping back. _

_Mike was the first person I called when I got back to my hotel room that night in Austin, to tell him what had happened in Kingsland. He was excited to hear that Jacey was coming to Chicago and glad we were planning to try seeing each other again. My other friends and my mother, too, were optimistic when I told them Jacey was moving to Chicago. I assured them I was going forward with my eyes open – Jacey and I both were, for that matter – and that set their minds at ease, for the most part. I still had the sense that Jasper was hesitant about it, but I knew it arose from protectiveness. As time went by, if things worked out, I knew he would come to happily accept and support it._

_It was exactly two weeks later on the Saturday of Labor Day weekend that he called me. That was also the weekend Nicolas visited Mike in Chicago and I met him for the first time. When Jacey called I happened to be out for dinner with Mike and Nicolas. I was thoroughly enjoying watching the dynamic between them, how well-suited they were for each other and the fun, easy rapport they had. I got a kick out of Nicolas calling my friend "Michael", and seeing Mike completely at ease with Nicolas was an absolute treat. _

_Knowing Jacey was to have arrived on Wednesday, I'd already been hoping for a call from him for several days. I knew he said he'd call when he got settled...still, I hoped. When my caller ID lit up with his number that night while we were at dinner, there was no way I was going to let it go to voicemail as I'd have done with just about any other call. I winked at Mike, holding up my phone and excusing myself. He understood immediately – I might have mentioned it to him once or twice...or twenty times...in the two weeks since I'd returned from Texas. I answered it as I walked out the door of the restaurant onto the street._

_Though I already knew it was him calling, hearing his voice on my phone made me absurdly happy. I was almost giddy as I greeted him, and though he'd sounded hesitant at first – almost as if he wasn't sure his call would still be welcomed – he brightened considerably when he heard me. When I told him where I was and who I was with, he started to insist that I return to my dinner companions. I refused to go back until I had at least chatted with him a little, asked about his flight and how he was settling in, and so forth. Before I let him go, he asked me to say hello to both Mike and Nicolas; and to tell Nicolas how glad he was to have run into him that day at El Greco. We decided we'd get together for a coffee the following weekend, and left it open as to when we would talk again, though I was dying to talk longer. _

_When I returned to my friends I passed along Jacey's messages, seconding his sentiment about him and Nicolas running into each other. Nicolas grinned, replying, "Just doing my duty as a good gay citizen...and your friend."_

"_We hadn't met yet," I reminded him._

"_Fine – friend by proxy," he grinned. _

_I was more than happy to drink to that._

_Jacey and I did talk a couple more times that week. The first time, I called him. I didn't know if he felt completely comfortable just calling me up when he wanted, because of our circumstances. I wanted him to know that our commitment not to rush into anything didn't mean we had a limitation on how often we could talk or when it could happen. We were going to take things as they came, and let our relationship develop naturally. I took the first step in calling him without a pre-arranged time. Two days later he called me, and that sealed it. After that, we talked at least a couple of times a week – usually about every second or third day, and often at night. Sometimes it was just for a few minutes, sometimes for a couple of hours. _

_The first time we saw each other, a week after that first call, we didn't discuss anything really heavy - mostly just enjoyed being together again. We'd decided to meet for coffee. The smile he flashed me when we caught sight of each other outside the Starbucks where we'd agreed to meet...it was like the sun bursting through after months of heavy cloud cover. He was _so beautiful, _right down to that sexy new haircut and the little bit of scruff he was sporting. He had on a t-shirt and casual pants, and a messenger bag slung across his body. Relaxed and happy, he looked like I felt: as though the weight of all the sadness and dejection was finally beginning to lift._

_The second time I saw him, he gave me a tour of the SAIC residence where he lived. His apartment was on the 12__th__ floor and looked out over the corner of North State and Randolph. It was less like a dorm than a very small, uniquely laid-out apartment. It was a single room, with a kitchenette and a full private bath. It took me a minute to realize that his bed was up a ladder in a tiny loft room. He seemed sheepish about having to climb a ladder to get to it; but it _was_ a double bed and the rest of the space more than made up for it. He was on the corner of the building and had windows on two sides of the apartment, including two in his kitchen. The amount of natural light coming into that apartment was amazing. The building also had studios in which the residents could book time and work on their stuff. The whole place was clearly perfect for him. "As for the bedroom," he said with an impish smirk, "I always wanted a tree house. I'll just pretend."_

_I was thrilled to see that he had large, beautifully-framed photographs on the walls showing the murals he'd had in his room in Austin. I'd thought a couple of times how I wished I'd taken photographs of them when I was there, so I was very glad to see he had documented them. And then, prominently displayed on the wall over his bed, was the jade carving. How my heart leapt when I saw that. I had wondered about it a number of times. I never dreamed he'd get rid of it – it had far too much monetary value for that – but I'd wondered whether he truly wanted it anymore after we broke up._

_When I mentioned how glad I was that he still had it, he turned to me and very seriously said, "Jack, that is the most valuable piece of art I own, and I don't mean cash value. I couldn't be less interested in how much it cost, though I have a good idea how generous you were to buy it for me. What makes it so valuable to me is everything it represents. It's you. Sleek and beautiful on the outside, and so strong inside and out." _

_It was the first time either of us had talked about our feelings for each other__ since I was in Kingsland. It felt too soon – I just wasn't ready to talk about it. Since I'd had enough of having important conversations by telephone, we had an informal understanding that serious discussions were to be had face-to-face. I always preferred seeing his facial expression and posture as he spoke, because his body language was so expressive. Nevertheless, I just smiled before retreating back down the ladder and crossing the room to look out at the view of downtown Chicago. He understood. He didn't pursue it while I was there, and didn't bring up the topic after that. He was willing to wait until I was ready._

I have house guests the first week of October. Ashton and Kathleen make a trip from Seattle to stay with me for almost a full week, arriving on Sunday and leaving the following Saturday. During that week I take Monday and Friday off to spend with them, showing them around Chicago and catching up on what's been going on in our lives. Kathleen has been to Chicago before, when she was in high school, but it's Ashton's first visit.

It's so great to have them here. We have fun sight-seeing and shopping, and we also enjoy just being together, talking and laughing. They give me all the news of the Seattle folk, and one night Mike comes over to my apartment to meet them. Everyone gets along very well, much the same as how Mike blended in so nicely when Edward visited. Ashton asks Mike about downhill skiing in this area, since he loved it when we were in college. Mike responds enthusiastically, telling Ash about Alpine Valley, which is less than two hours north, just into Wisconsin; and about Granite Peak, farther north in Wausau. I recognize the gleam in Ashton's eyes as they chat about it – I can tell he's trying to figure out how to swing another trip to Chicago this coming winter.

Several times over the week Ash and Kathleen comment on how much better I seem since the last time they saw me. Eventually Kathleen asks how it's going with Jacey. I've mentioned him briefly a couple of times, and of course they know I've agreed to try to rebuild a friendship with him.

"It's going pretty well. We talk on the phone quite a bit, and we've seen each other a few times since he moved here."

"Seen each other?" Ash repeats. "Like an actual date?"

"No. No actual dates, just coffee. And...well, once we went to a gallery show at the Gene Siskel place – it's on the first floor of his building."

"Have you talked about what happened?" Kathleen asks.

"Not at all," I reply. "Not since I was at his mother's house."

"Why not?"

I sigh. "I haven't felt ready to start talking about it yet. It's been really nice to be with him and not have big heavy discussions. We've never had time to just be together without knowing the clock was ticking on our time together, without a big emotional goodbye at the end of it. Not that I'm an expert, but I think this is sort of how relationships are supposed to begin, right? Just talking and spending time together? Without all kinds of pressure and expectations. This is what we should have had the first time around."

My friends nod in unison. "You do plan to discuss it at some point, though?" Ashton asks.

"Definitely. Before sex enters the picture."

"You're not sleeping with him?"

I chuckle at Ashton's surprised expression. "Haven't even kissed him. Not that I don't want to." I shrug. "We're just keeping things casual for now."

"Wow, Jackie," Kathleen grins. "You _are_ taking it slow. Good for you, sweetheart."

"You sure look a hell of a lot better than you did in July," Ashton adds. "Whatever you're doing, keep it up."

I debate over the next few days whether to introduce them to Jacey while they're here, and finally decide to ask them if they want to meet him. Ashton looks at Kathleen before they burst into laughter. "We were just talking about that in bed this morning," Kathleen admits. "We were hoping to meet him, but neither of us wanted to ask!"

I laugh too. "I guess that's a yes, then. If you guys don't need my room for a little bit, I'll go call him and then I'll shower and dress." They both agree, and just as I'm on my way out of the living room, I pause, remarking, "That's what straight people do in bed – talk? Sounds like fun." Laughing, I duck down the hall just before a throw pillow sails through the air, narrowly missing my head.

I call Jacey, who seems surprised to hear that they want to meet him. After I assure him, though, that it was as much their idea as mine, he enthusiastically agrees to meet us at a cafe near his building after his afternoon class. Later that afternoon, we take the Red Line downtown. It's a perfect fall day. The sky is blue and completely clear. The air is crisp enough to warrant a light jacket. The trees we pass have changed into full autumn foliage.

Inside the Loop, the Red Line runs underground. We get off at Lake Station which is directly outside Jacey's apartment, and just as we emerge onto the street, Jacey walks past.

"Jacey!" I call, since he hasn't seen us. He spins in the direction of my voice, and when he sees us, a huge smile breaks across his face. _So beautiful. _ He is almost back to the Jacey I used to know – light and happy – instead of the Jacey who was sad and small and wracked with guilt. I'm so glad for the change.

"Hey!" he greets, joining us. After I make the introductions and everyone greets each other very cordially, we continue on to the café together. He tells us a little about the class he has just left, and asks how Kathleen and Ashton's visit is going.

Over our early dinner the conversation flows easily. Ashton and Kathleen are as friendly as they always are. Jacey is sweet and funny. At one point when he turns to me to ask me something, he lays his hand on mine to get my attention. Though he doesn't realize at first he's done it, and though he carefully retrieves his hand when he does realize, the warm, gentle press of his hand against mine gives me a little flutter in my stomach. After answering his question, I look down at my plate, taking a moment to process and enjoy that sensation. When I look up again I notice Kathleen watching me intently, with a tiny, knowing smile on her face. The smile broadens just a little bit when she catches my eye before returning to the conversation.

At the end of the meal, she and Ashton insist on picking up the bill for all of us, including Jacey. We walk back to the steps of the train station, where we stand chatting for a while before they say goodbye. They start down into the station, leaving me to say goodbye to Jacey privately. He smiles at me, saying hopefully, "I think that went okay?"

"It was great," I assure him.

His smile widens and he nods a bit before drawing a deep breath. "Well...thanks for inviting me," he says wistfully.

"It was my pleasure," I reply. We hold our gaze for a moment, and god, it would be so nice to just pull him close and kiss him. I don't; but neither do I skip a little indulgence altogether. I reach out and tangle my fingers with his, squeezing them gently before releasing them and stepping toward the stairs. "Bye," I murmur, and head down the stairs into the station.

At the bottom of the stairs, Kathleen and Ashton are waiting for me. To their credit, they both grin but don't say anything, even on the train ride home. They sit across the aisle from me, quietly chatting together, and I sit on the other side looking out the window. As we pass brilliant maples, their already vivid colors now drenched in the fiery orange-red of the late afternoon sun, I think about how the memory of those simple touches between me and Jacey makes my pulse quicken. The flutters have definitely returned. It's both cool and scary that something as simple as touching his hand can elicit this kind of reaction from me. That being the case, it's probably time to start having the deeper conversations and working these things out.

We get off the train at Belmont and meander our way back toward my apartment, Kathleen linking each of her arms through one of ours. It's their last night here and we're planning to stay in and spend a quiet final evening, watching a movie and just hanging out. Aside from having slept on the couch all week (and perhaps it's time to start thinking about a two-bedroom), I have absolutely loved having them here. It's been even better than old times, because there's no sadness on my part where Ash is concerned. At home, we get into our comfortable clothes. The two of them curl up on the couch together while I cover up with a throw blanket in my arm chair. We turn on a movie but as it's one we've all seen already, we spend most of the two hours talking over the movie.

Finally Kathleen turns to Ashton and says, "Well, hon, we've got a long day ahead of us tomorrow, and we'll have to get up reasonably early to get everything packed up." He kisses her forehead and agrees. We all get up and she gives me a hug before saying goodnight and heading to the bedroom.

Ash lingers behind her, smiling at me till I finally ask, "What?"

"It's been really good being here this week," he replies. "I'm happy for you. Meeting Jacey was great. He's obviously completely taken with you, and I can see how much he means to you. I had my doubts when you told us you were going to Austin to see him, but you're obviously very happy. I'm glad you're together."

"Well," I correct, "we're not technically together..."

He chuckles. "Are you seeing someone else?"

"No," I reply a little indignantly.

"Is he?"

"No."

"So, for all intents and purposes, you're already exclusive, whether or not you refer to yourselves as together."

I tilt my head to one side as I consider his words. "Huh. Would you look at that. You know...I was thinking on the train that maybe I'm ready to start talking about everything with him, before we get in much deeper. Today was the first time we've even really touched each other, and...whew." I wiggle my fingers in front of my abdomen. "Butterflies."

He laughs, in amusement but also in joy. "I'm happy for you, bro."

We give each other a quick hug goodnight before he leaves to join Kathleen. After I make up my bed on the couch, I watch the news and a bit of the Cubs game rebroadcast before calling it a night. Lying in bed in the dark, I consider his observation. Jacey and I are exclusive. Considering what a thorn in our sides the issue was for several months – two big long conversations we had about it before, and it still didn't happen – it's hard to believe that this time, we haven't talked about _anything, _yet we already have exclusivity.

And now here we are. I love him. I know that'll never change. This time last year, I didn't think I would be the kind to find real happiness with a long-term partner. I know we have a way to go on the issue of trust. On the other hand, as those ridiculous inspirational posters insist, the journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step.

I reach over to the coffee table and grab my phone. Without bothering to turn a light on, I dial Jacey's new cell phone number, which I've already memorized.

It rings a couple of times before he answers. "Hello there," he says with a smile in his voice.

"Hello yourself. Are you busy?"

"Nope. Finished up what I was working on half an hour ago and now I'm watching a truly terrible teen drama on TV. It's easily the worst thing I've ever seen, but it's got Gale Harold."

I chuckle. "It's amazing what you can suffer through when a hot guy is in it. I once watched Lindsay Lohan so I could see Chris Pine."

This time he's the one to laugh. "Totally worth it."

"Exactly."

"So, not that I mind in the least," he remarks, "but it's a little later than usual. Everything okay?"

"Everything's fine. I was just lying here thinking about you."

"And what were you thinking?"

"Hmm. It's supposed to be gorgeous tomorrow. I've got to take Kathleen and Ashton for the airport for around noon. Do you have any plans for the afternoon?" I ask.

"I do not. What did you have in mind?"

"Well...I was thinking maybe we could go to Millennium Park, see the Bean again?"

"Love to. I've walked past the park a few times but I haven't gone up to see the Bean yet."

I continue, "And then maybe we could get some dinner, just you and me, and maybe after we could talk?"

There's a brief pause before he repeats, "Talk? Like...really talk?"

"Yeah. I'm ready to start talking about it if you are."

"Yeah! I mean, yes. Definitely. I'm ready. Ready when you are. Yes."

I laugh. "Okay then. So I'll see you tomorrow."

We decide on a time to meet and then wish each other a good night. After we hang up I draw a long breath and relax back into my pillow. I'm nervous, but it's almost completely in a good way. Of course some of the things we'll have to talk about will be unpleasant, and it'll take more than an afternoon to work things out. It's okay. Even if it _is_ a journey of a thousand miles, one step is already behind us.

-o-

**The "truly terrible teen drama with Gale Harold" exists. It's called Hellcats and it's ****on The CW on Wednesday nights. I really can't see it lasting long, so if you're interested you better act quickly. Thanks to my mozzer for the heads-up. **

**My FGB piece isn't finished yet. It's getting close, but it's over 17K words at this point. Major love and squeezes to two very patient darlings, BeCullen and melooza1. **_**Ad astra per aspera.**_


	32. Chapter 32

**Has it really been more than a month since I posted a chapter of DD? I am so profoundly sorry for the delay. There are a thousand reasons why, but suffice it to say that from a work perspective, October was crazy. However: time marches on and I'm back to a much more normal life, thank goodness! I'm also feeling newly inspired where DD is concerned. I'm so grateful for everyone's patience and support. Let's get back to our once-regular schedule of almost-weekly updates, shall we?**

**-o-**

_Jack_

Seeing friends or family to the airport is always both pain and pleasure for me. I'm never happy to see them go, but I'm usually very glad to get back to my regular routine and reclaim my space as my own again. This time is no exception. It's been so great to have the week with my good friends – we've had a great visit and done lots of touristy things, and I know I'll miss them very much in the months until I see them again. Still, I'll get back to the running I missed while they were here and I'll have my quiet evenings and my own bed again...and I'll have plans with Jacey.

Such as the ones I have now. After seeing Kathleen and Ashton off at O'Hare, I head downtown. The day is overcast but mild, and we're going to walk to Millennium Park, only a couple of blocks away. As I approach Jacey's building I see him standing outside waiting for me. He catches sight of me and my heart leaps straight into my throat as he flashes me a brilliant smile.

"Hi!" he greets enthusiastically. I grin and wave. As I draw closer he reaches his hand out to me, and when I reach him, I clasp it in mine.

"Hello there," I return. "How are you today?"

"Great now that you're here. How about you? Got your friends to the airport?"

"Yeah. Ashton's already scheming to come back for the ski season, I think." We start walking west on Randolph, heading toward Millennium Park. Though neither of us comments on it, our hands remain linked together as we walk.

"I've never skied," Jacey remarks. "Well, I've water-skied on Lake Travis. I don't think it's quite the same."

I laugh. "Not quite. That's like when I first tried ice skating. I'd been in-line skating a thousand times but it was totally different."

At the mention of ice skating, Jacey's eyes widen. "Oh, I'd love to try ice skating! I read there's a rink opening next month up here at the park! That sounds like so much fun." I grimace a little, and he catches it. "What? It doesn't?"

"No, it does _sound_ like fun. I thought it did too, before I tried it. I fell on my ass more times than I can count." He looks a little disappointed, prompting me to add, "But if you want to try it, I'll go with you."

"Just to watch? Or will you skate too?" he adds hopefully.

"Oh yeah, I'll skate. Well, I mean, I'll try." His answering smile is totally worth the aches and bruises I know I'll be borrowing.

We continue along Randolph, chatting as we approach the corner of Michigan Ave. Even after we round the corner, it's difficult to see the Bean. It isn't until we get quite close that we get more than a brief glimpse of the smoothest, fluid mercury-silver through the fall foliage, but when we reach the front of the park, the view opens up to us. I haven't been here since we broke up. After Jacey's visit in March, I used to come here sometimes on my lunch, if I could get away, or after work. Even if I only stayed a few moments, the simple act of being present, walking around the base of the Cloud Gate and remembering being here with Jacey were all such pleasant activities. After our breakup, doing any of those things was just out of the question. Returning with Jacey today is, at least privately, a hurdle surmounted.

Much as we did the last time we were here together, we wander separately around the sculpture, slowly weaving paths under and through, marveling at the constant and yet ever-changing images on the flawless surface. I have been here in many different types of weather and seen numerous reflections, but one time I've never visited the Bean is at night. It occurs to me that I should make a point of doing that.

After quietly tracing our own paths for some time, I rejoin Jacey, standing quietly behind him as he looks up into the navel of the Bean. He doesn't acknowledge my presence until quietly, almost too soft for me to hear, he asks, "Are you here because your friends gave their approval?"

I stare at him, stepping around to stand before him, but he keeps looking up. Finally I reach out and take his hand again – pulling it out of his pocket where he's had it shoved – and gently ask, "What makes you think I would ask for Kathleen and Ashton's approval?"

"Oh..." he sighs. "It's just the timing. Because before yesterday you weren't ready to talk, and then they meet me and then the same night you call and ask if we can talk...my first instinct was that you go the stamp of approval from them. The go-ahead."

"Ah." From that perspective, I suppose it makes sense; but my reply is unequivocal. "The answer is no."

"Really?" He seems so unsure.

"Truly. I called you because I wanted to. I knew I was ready."

He exhales, his face and shoulders both noticeably relaxing. "_How_ did you know?"

"Butterflies."

"I beg your pardon?"

"I got butterflies in my stomach when you touched me. We've been keeping it light, and that's been so great - it's felt effortless to be with you. But yesterday, I felt you touch my hand and I just knew I was ready to start having these conversations we need to have."

His face is alight with awe, as though he can scarcely believe what he's hearing. "Jack," he breathes. "I'm so glad. I wondered if you'd ever be able to think of me that way again. I know what you said in August, but..."

"I told you, Jacey, you're worth it. What we had before was so ...beautiful. I want it again. I want it with you. I've been loving spending time with you, and I don't want it to stop. You're brilliant and sweet and beautiful." He looks down, his long eyelashes brushing his flushing cheeks. "I want us to keep spending time together. But with the way I'm feeling about you, I know that before we get in much deeper, we need to start talking things out."

"Yeah," he agrees. "Because I don't want there to be anything unsaid between us, Jack. No grievances that we don't talk about, nothing that sits with either of us and festers. I want you more than anything, but I don't want it just for a while. I want to get it right, and I want it for...well, forever. I'm not asking you to commit to anything right now, but I want you to know where I'm coming from. There was so much we didn't say last time, and I know I was the one who asked for openness and honesty and then didn't come through on that. No more. I'm telling you now that I'm not going to be a shrinking violet anymore."

"I don't want you to be," I tell him earnestly, surprised but glad for his newfound openness. "And I agree. I know I contributed to that. I have been reserved, for such a long time, because I didn't think it would happen for me. It took me too long to tell you I was in love with you. Hell, it took me too long to admit it to myself. It shouldn't have been so difficult, because deep down, I knew it. From the moment you sang to me, on my dad's birthday, I was in love."

I glance around us at the people milling around the Bean, and realize we could find another venue, something more comfortable and private, to continue this conversation. "Want to get out of here?" I ask. "I thought maybe we could grab some dinner."

"Sounds great," he agrees. "Where were you thinking?"

I mention a lounge nearby, one that is reasonably quiet. It has comfortable arrangements of couches and chairs, grouped together and partitioned like a series of small living rooms. It will be a good place to talk privately. We head off there, walking hand-in-hand.

At the restaurant lounge, we grab a smaller loveseat-type couch that's tucked away by itself in a corner. The server brings us each a drink and we order an appetizer to share. Jacey pulls his feet up under him and leans in toward me. I mimic his pose, and we start to talk.

There's so much to say. I know we won't be able to say everything in a day, and that's okay. I've been waiting long enough for him now that I'm all right with the time it'll take. I also don't want every interaction we have now to consist solely of heavy conversations. We're not on anyone's timetable but our own.

That day, by the time I walk him back to his building and see him to the door of his unit, we've mainly covered things like our failures at honesty. We've gone back over previous conversations and filled in between the lines, been explicit about things we weren't before. I've reiterated again how much I wanted to ask him to live with me for the summer, and the reasons why I didn't. For his part, he has been more honest about how deeply it hurt him when I declined his first request for exclusivity. Fear has held us back from so much before, but it doesn't need to now. We've already been through the worst we could have to deal with.

I decline his invitation into his apartment. It would be far too easy to become physical, and far too difficult to stop before we ended up in bed. It's best not to start. I really want to have this stuff out in the open before we resume that part; and at this point, I think we agree that becoming "us" again is almost a given, and the physical part of our relationship will happen. That said, it'll happen on its own, and when we're ready. We don't have to rush – neither of us is going anywhere.

So instead of going inside, I reach up to gently stroke his face with my fingertips. He closes his eyes, softly humming his enjoyment, and very slowly I lean in and brush my lips against his. I feel his mouth pucker slightly, his lips soft and warm as he returns the kiss. My heart swells when his hand comes to my face, mirroring my movements. The kiss lasts only a few seconds, but it is, indisputably, the best I've ever had.

I pull back far enough to look into his eyes. He whispers, "Thank you for today."

"I'm glad we did this," I return. "It was a good start."

He nods. "I'll talk to you soon?"

"Of course," I smile.

After a last goodbye I leave. As I ride the L home, I'm exhausted but feeling pretty blissed out. Every conversation is a step in the right direction, and today's conversation went well, all things considered. There were a few times when I felt a hint of frustration at knowing Jacey had hidden the true extent of his feelings from me, when all those months ago he wasn't saying what he really wanted to, but when I'm honest with myself, I know I did the same to him.

And of course, there's that kiss. The first time I've felt his soft lips on mine since the moment he said goodbye in my apartment in June. Thinking of the plush velvet of his mouth sends a thrill through me, makes me catch my breath and smile to myself. The feeling stays with me throughout the week that follows, every time I think of it - which is a lot. I want more of it, and often.

We end up not talking much during the following week, because of an assignment Jacey's working on that takes a great deal of his time. We touch base almost every day, by means of a quick phone call or a few texts, but it isn't until the following Saturday afternoon that Jacey calls, announcing that he's finished his project, an art history paper on which he's been working his ass off. Though he loves learning about anything involving art, buckling down long enough to put his knowledge down on paper is always a challenge for him. It's almost too banal - he'd much rather be creating. Knowing that, I fully understand his relief at finally being done.

He suggests going out to a club to celebrate, and I'm totally onboard. I haven't been to a club in months, not having been at all interested in hooking up with anyone or even in dancing. He travels uptown on the L to join me, since the clubs we're interested in are in my neighborhood. He hasn't been to my apartment since we started seeing each other again. I don't know that he's even been up to Boystown since he moved to Chicago, he's been so ensconced in the campus and downtown area.

When he knocks on my door and I welcome him inside, he looks around as relearning a place he didn't know he'd ever see again. He sits on the couch and his eyes immediately light on the sketchpad he left that day, where it now resides on my coffee table. He picks it up and looks up at me. Wordlessly I join him on the couch. He begins to page through the book, lingering over each sketch of me, of himself, of Chicago landmarks. Finally he gets to the final page, the one where he had written that cryptic sentence, "The future is unwritten." He stares at it for a long time before setting the book back on the table, open to that page. I slip my arm around his shoulder. He rests his hand on my knee and leans into me, and we sit like that, quietly together, individually contemplating what lies in the unwritten future.

Ultimately, though, tonight is a night to celebrate, and after debating where to go, we end up at Spin. I'm a little hesitant to go, because of the less-than-pleasant memories we both have of the last time we were there together – the whole Karl debacle – but perhaps it's time to exorcise those memories and move on.

It is, of course, exactly the same as it was four or five months ago when I was here last. We get a couple of drinks and then immediately hit the dance floor. The music is energetic, the crowd is ebullient, and I have my Jacey with me again. Jacey gets cruised repeatedly, but he doesn't even notice. Completely wrapped up in each other, we dance till the club closes. Most of the time, we're glued together, my hands riding the roll of Jacey's hips and his hands on my waist. Within half an hour of arriving, he has stripped off his shirt and pulls mine off as well. He has now gained back the weight he lost over the summer, and seems to have added a bit of muscle, too - not a great deal, just enough to give him a bit more definition in his chest and shoulders.

He doesn't have more than two drinks before switching to water, but that little bit of alcohol seems to relax him. He dances closer and closer to me, our bare chests brushing together, and he gives me a wicked smirk when I quirk an eyebrow at him. A song comes on that has a particularly throbbing beat - music to fuck by, Jasper would say - and the boy I've often called 'sweet' isn't acting very sweet anymore. His hands leave my waist, sliding down and around to graze my ass. He gives a few light squeezes, to which I counter by pulling his hips tight against mine. I can feel him, hard under the thin denims he's wearing. He moans into my ear, nipping the lobe gently, and I release him.

"Fuck," I curse. "We need to stop doing that, or..."

"Yeah," he nods before swallowing hard. "I know. You just feel so good..."

I blow out a long sigh. "Why don't we get a drink and just sit for a bit?"

"You think more alcohol will help us keep our hands off each other?" He grins.

"Good point. Two ice waters."

By the time we get to the bar, it's last call anyway. As we finish our water, the lights come up and people start heading for the doors. When we get outside we're damp with sweat and no less prurient than before. Jacey is prepared to take the L back downtown, but I really don't feel comfortable putting him on the train by himself so late at night. He's sure it'd be fine, and yeah, he's probably right. Still, I'm not convinced, and this is my Jacey. I tell him I'd much rather he came to stay with me. He raises an eyebrow at me, seeming unsure whether I truly mean it. I assure him I do – I'll even give him my bed. I'm sure we can manage to be chaste for the night despite being in the same apartment.

He acquiesces, walking the couple of blocks back to my place with his fingers laced through mine. Inside, he refuses to allow me to give up my bed, saying he'll sleep on the couch. I'd like to suggest sharing my bed, but damn. I'm not made of stone. If I have him in my bed again I'll be hard as a rock all night long – assuming I manage not to attack him the instant he takes his pants off. I pull out the spare pillows and blankets, making his bed on the couch while he takes a quick shower. When he comes out of the bathroom, bare-chested and damp, I nearly explode. I give him a quick kiss goodnight and then run for the shower myself, locking the bathroom door behind me.

The instant I'm under the water, my hand goes around my cock. I think about how his body felt pressed against mine, with his cock rigid and his hands squeezing my ass. I remember those plump lips - remember the first time I kissed him and how good they looked wrapped around my cock. It's only a moment before I'm coming hard, my legs trembling as I release the evening's pent-up sexual energy and temptation. After a quick rinse-off I stick my head back out into the living room to make sure he's settled and comfortable, then head to bed. It's surprisingly easy to fall asleep, even knowing he's in the living room, because I know when I wake up tomorrow morning, he'll be here waiting.

The next morning he's up before I am; in fact it's the smell of the coffee brewing that wakes me up. Once I'm up he doesn't hang around for long. He stays to have a quick breakfast with me, then leaves, good-naturedly reminding me that he has other schoolwork he's been putting off while he was working on his art history paper. Before he goes he asks if we can get together again to talk sometime this week, and we make a date for Wednesday night.

After a slow, lingering kiss goodbye and a final warm smile, he's gone. I wander into my living room, yet again feeling rather blissful. I collapse onto my couch, lying on my back and looking up at the ceiling as I relive some of last night's memories. Eventually I pick up the sketchpad again. It's still open to the last page. It takes me a sec before I really focus on the page and when I do, I realize it no longer looks like it did yesterday.

_The future is unwritten... _

_Jack + Jacey 4-EVAH!_

I grin like a fool at the simple and intentionally childish equation that now decorates the page, in big, boldly stylized lettering surrounded by puffy hearts. It looks like a highly-polished version of something written by a middle-school girl in her notebook. He must have done it before I got up this morning. It's light and fun, which is how I know Jacey intended it to be, but I also know he means the sentiment behind it as well. One after another, signs keep popping up to tell me that we're on the right track. One step at a time, we're moving on.

-o-

Wednesday night arrives, and I go straight to Jacey's apartment after work. He has invited me for dinner, promising the vegetarian chili he made when he was here in March. He's also made those amazing buttermilk biscuits to go with it. Our conversation as we eat is light and comfortable. I show him my smartphone which now has a photo of Jack & Jacey 4-EVAH as my wallpaper - easily the most silly and sentimental thing I've ever done. I tell him that one of my colleagues caught a glimpse of it on Tuesday and teased me mercilessly about it...and I didn't even care.

After we finish eating and wash the dishes together, he suggests we sit on the couch in the main room of his unit. We sit together and start talk talking again, this time with him beginning the conversation. Eventually the subject turns to Matt. I knew this wouldn't be easy, yet it's even more difficult than I imagined. I'm still carrying a lot of pain and anger stemming from my visit to Austin, when Jacey was seeing Matt without telling me things had become serious between them. Even after I told him I loved him, he gave me no indication that what was going on was anything more than just sex.

As we continue on this line of discussion, I become more angry about Jacey's actions that weekend. "How could you say you loved me too," I ask him pointedly, "when you were getting so deeply involved with him? How could you continue to talk about our plans to go to Seattle?"

Jacey becomes defensive, which is uncharacteristic of him. He insists he was not the only one to blame for the lack of communication. Already angry, I become even more aggravated when his words make it sound almost as though he's trying to throw some of the blame for Matt, onto me. I ask if he got involved with Matt on purpose, in retaliation for what happened with Karl - an insecurity that has bothered me repeatedly, despite knowing on an intellectual level that Jacey wouldn't intentionally hurt me.

At that point he shuts down, and I can see we're not getting anywhere in this line of discussion tonight. I decide it's best for me to just leave, to come back to it another time when tempers aren't so high. I put on my jacket and leave, hurt and frustrated, neither of us saying goodbye.

I knew this wouldn't be easy, despite how well it's gone up to this point. I knew there would be times when emotions would run high. Knowing ahead of time it would probably be the case, doesn't lessen the pain. It's a long, lonely ride home on the L after such a discouraging night. It takes me forever to go to sleep and when I do, it's broken and restless. I wake several times and the second time, I'm awake long enough to think some more about the whole situation. Despite how badly it went, he's still Jacey. It's worth it if it means we'll be together at the end of this - and I want that more than anything. I want him in my life. I finally fall back to sleep, resolved to call him and apologize for letting my anger get the best of me, before I go to work tomorrow.

I wake the next morning to the sound of the buzzer from the front door downstairs. I jump out of bed and rush to the intercom panel, my heart jumping into my throat when I hear Jacey's voice over the speaker. I let him into the building immediately and pull open my apartment door, waiting there in just my boxer briefs as he bounds up the staircase, rounds the landing and takes the last flight two steps at a time, straight into my arms. His eyes and nose are red, and he looks about as emotionally overwhelmed and exhausted as I feel.

We speak at the same time, both apologizing and excusing the other all in the same breath. I pull him inside and close the apartment door. He refuses to release his hold on me, and I don't want to let him go either. "You came to me. I was going to call you this morning," I murmur into his hair.

"I was such a jerk last night – I don't know what possessed me to try to put some of that on you. It was me and only me. I'm the one who let things with Matt get out of control. I'm the one who wasn't honest about what was happening with him. I'm so sorry."

"It's okay," I reassure him. "I'm sorry too - I got angry and I started making stupid accusations and that just made things worse."

"I swear to you, I never set out to hurt you on purpose. The thing with Karl was done and forgotten long before I started working at Texartopia, I promise you that."

"Please forget I ever suggested it," I beg. "I know you're not vindictive, Jacey."

We kiss repeatedly, whispering apologies and absolutions between us, before he rests his head on my shoulder, his face buried in my neck. After standing entwined for a while, he sighs. "I shouldn't stay. You probably have to get ready for work...?"

"No, wait. Do you have a class you have to be at?"

"I don't have a class until eleven."

"Then will you stay? Have breakfast with me, then we'll take the train back downtown together."

He smiles, and it's settled. We have breakfast together, not revisiting the subject of Matt this morning. Instead, we keep the conversation light. I mention a restaurant I'd like to take him to, a place Mike took me on my birthday. The mention of my birthday brings Jacey up short.

"Your birthday? When was that?" he demands.

"It was last month. September 17," I reply.

"What!" he exclaims. "I saw you the day before that and you didn't say a word!"

"It's not a big deal. I didn't want you to feel obligated or anything – it's okay..."

"Yes, it is a big deal," he says, reproachfully adding, "I would have celebrated it with you, Jack." He looks so disappointed that I can't help apologizing.

"I'm sorry. You're right – I should have mentioned it."

The apology mollifies him somewhat and it seems the subject is dropped. However, when I see him again two days later, he has baked me a cake – candles and everything – and has not one, but two gifts for me. One is a Jacey Dawes original, a mixed media painting featuring a beautiful abstract rendering of my apartment. The painting is entitled _Love Spoken Here_. The other gift is a gorgeous vase in my favorite shade of cobalt blue, to add to my collection. He makes a big deal of celebrating it, so much so that even though my birthday is several weeks past, he manages to make it feel like it's today. I can't help thinking how nice it is to be fussed over – especially by Jacey.

The day of my impromptu birthday celebration is also the anniversary of the day we met in Austin, the night before Jasper and Edward's wedding. Surprisingly, I'm the one who reminds Jacey of the date we met; then again, I do have a built-in reminder system, by virtue of my good friends' wedding anniversary the following day. To celebrate I take him back to the Park Grill, where we ate when he was here in March, for a special dinner.

It's another week before we revisit the subject of Matt, and by the time the topic comes up again, there's really only more thing I want to know. I ask as we stand on the Chicago Riverwalk one evening, overlooking the river.

"Why did you and Matt break up?" I ask quietly, gazing down at the water as it ripples with the lights of the Chicago night skyline.

Jacey takes a moment before answering. "Because the entire relationship with him was a mistake. The biggest one was when he asked me to be exclusive. I should have said, 'I'm in love with Jack and no one else will ever have a chance because he's the one.' Instead, I lied – to myself, to you, to Matt. We broke up because I finally admitted the truth. I will never, ever get over you. I don't want to. I love you."

Without meeting his eyes I slip one arm over his shoulders and bring him close to me. His own arms slide around my waist and he leans in, resting his head against my chest. It's difficult for me to speak around the lump that has risen in my throat, but eventually I manage to rasp, "Good answer."

Jacey chuckles softly, lifting his face to kiss my neck. "It's true. I love you. I _love_ you, Jack. I'll say it a thousand times – a million, if you'll let me."

_Music to my ears_. I kiss him, sweet and slow, savoring the feel of him against my body before whispering into his ear, "In that case...guess you better start now."

**-o-**

**Inspiration for today's chapter was provided in part by ArcadianMaggie, purveyor of puffy hearts and human equations. **

**I'm sure many have sensed that DD is beginning to wrap up. I love this story so much, and I love the characters; but it's true, things are coming to a natural conclusion. Deep Dish will be complete by the end of 2010.  
**

**My Fandom Gives Back piece was finally posted last month. Called Within Our Reach, it explores the relationship between Jim Kirk and Spock from a different perspective – yeah, dude, a slashy one – both what takes place during the movie **_**and **_**what happens afterward. I hope you'll check it out!**


	33. Chapter 33

**Have you met Dr. Wicked? If you write, and if you have any issues at all with motivation or remaining focused (what with distractions like Twitter and email and research and "research" and hey what are the words to that song? and god I haven't watched the video in years thank godz for YouTube...not that I have any experience with this at all...except, well, I sort of didn't get through writing this a/n without pulling up Cee Lo Green on iTunes, just because I wanted to hear the song)...perhaps an introduction could benefit you, too. Dr. Wicked's "Write or Die" application (free online, $10 US for the desktop download) keeps you writing by "punishing" slacking with the most hideous noises you've ever heard. For more info, visit writeordie dot dr wicked dot com. I only just started using it in the last few weeks, and it totally keeps my ass going until my time goal is up, even after I exceed the word goal (and I've never *not* passed my word goal when using it). I couldn't recommend it more highly. I purchased the download and it's totally worth it. Thanks to BeCullen and dellaterra for Word War-ing me – and totally handing my ass to me in the process. :)**

-o-

_Jack_

Sometimes it's almost impossible to believe that I met Jacey an entire year ago, that the day I flew out of Seattle on my way to watch two of my best friends get married, there was no Jacey in my life yet. The twelve months that have transpired have contained perhaps the most difficult times of my life. On the other hand, they've also brought moments of the greatest joy of my life, and I can say that with certainty.

Having called Edward and Jasper on their anniversary, it's reassuring to know that they are blissfully happy and in love. I'm so happy for them and a little envious of their rapture; but I'm hopeful, more optimistic than I've ever been, because every day Jacey and I are closer. Every time we're together I feel more confident in our renewed relationship and in our commitment to each other.

The first two weeks of November are crazy for Jacey, school-wise, with several major assignments due at the middle of the month. I only see him once during that time, for an hour when he comes to my office to share lunch with me. We talk at least briefly every day. The day after he hands in the last of his major assignments, he comes up to Boystown to have dinner at my apartment. Collapsing onto the couch after dinner, he groans, "I feel like I could sleep for a week."

"Maybe you should," I suggest. I'm glad he has a bit of a break in his schoolwork now, and not just for how much I've missed spending time with him. I've been worried about how hard he's working this month. In addition to his schoolwork, he's also made the decision to take on a part-time job to help with his expenses, taking a retail position in an art supply store a short distance from his apartment. I wish he'd allow me to help so the job wouldn't be a necessity, and I suggest this to him.

"No," he says flatly. "Thank you for offering, Jack. I know you mean well, but no. I need to do this for myself. Besides, I'm doing fine - there's really nothing to worry about. I just want a buffer, you know? Just in case."

"I understand," I tell him, with admiration for his maturity; but I make sure he knows that if he ever has a cash emergency, I'm here with open arms and an open checkbook. He gives me a 'yes, dear' reply that sounds an awful lot like he's only agreeing to shut me up.

With Thanksgiving coming up later this month, it's pretty well been assumed by both me and my mom that I'll be flying home to Fresno for the holiday weekend. Jacey hasn't been back to Texas since he moved here at the end of August. I ask him about his travel schedule for the holiday weekend, when he's leaving town and returning. "Oh. I'm not going Austin for Thanksgiving," he replies.

"Why not?"

"I traded shifts with Allie," he replies, referring to his coworker at the store. "She'll have the full weekend off and I'll get a week at Christmas, including the time the store will be closed. I'll go home then."

"Really? Are you okay with that? With not seeing your mom for Thanksgiving?"

"Well," he shrugs, "I'm not thrilled about it, but between the two, I'd choose Christmas. It's her favorite holiday and if I do this, I can stay a whole week instead of just a few days."

I nod in understanding. "Yeah, I see your point."

"You'll be going to California?" he asks, a little wistful.

"I always have, except my last year of college when I had the flu and was too sick to fly," I reply. "Otherwise, it's sort of a given."

"Yeah."

"What are you going to do for Thanksgiving dinner, if you're staying here?" I probe.

"Oh, I'm sure I can find someone to eat with, someone who can't get home for whatever reason," he replies. He sounds casual about it, but I can hear the underlying tone of loneliness. Outwardly, I nod; inside, the wheels are turning in my head.

-o-

He falls asleep on my couch that evening. I know he has a class next morning, but I also know that if I wake him when I get up he'll have lots of time to get downtown for it. I simply cover him with a blanket and let him sleep. He doesn't even stir when I turn out the lights and go to bed later in the evening. When I wake in the morning I'm surprise, most pleasantly, to find that he has joined me sometime in the night. He's sleeping on top of my duvet, but covered up by the blanket I placed over him on the couch. I lie there and enjoy the sight of his beautiful face beside me for a while before I gently wake him, stroking his forehead. The sleepy smile he gives me when he opens his eyes is like the sunrise stretching warm arms into my room.

"Hey...morning," he mumbles.

"Hey yourself. I see my bed grew an extra person in the night." I reach out to stroke his hair.

"Yeah, I hope that's okay. If I overstepped..."

"No, it's fine. You didn't overstep at all. I was worried you might be upset about me not waking you up last night, but I knew how exhausted you were and I just couldn't do it."

He rolls onto his back and stretches deeply. "Waking up next to you? Upset is really not the word that comes to mind."

"Well, I didn't know this would happen today, but I'm sure as hell not complaining." I give him a soft kiss on the lips before getting up to hit the shower.

We have breakfast together and then ride downtown on the train, reluctantly saying goodbye before parting. I spend all day feeling disconnected, a little out of it; but in a good way. I'm almost giddy over the fact that he felt comfortable enough to come sprawl out in bed beside me; and yet even in his bleary state he considered my boundaries by not crawling under the covers. I feel...well, as close to blissful as I ever have. Even in Austin in May, when we were together and I first told him I loved him, I wasn't this happy because I knew there was something going on with Jacey, something making him act not like himself. There were things we needed to talk about and were afraid to say; there were issues arising between us that we didn't know about yet.

Our relationship is so different now. There's nothing we can't or don't talk about. We've discussed what we did over the summer while we were apart; and no, it wasn't easy for Jacey to hear me talk about how Kathleen flew to Chicago to kick my ass back to Seattle for the fourth of July weekend. He listened anyway. It hurt like hell to think of him being so despondent over the mistakes he'd made, to think of him believing that I could hate him or could never forgive him; but they were things he needed to say and I heard him out. I feel like almost everything's been said on the subject of our breakup and our time apart, that needs to be. Almost.

There's one more thing I need to tell him about the situation's impact on me and the insight I gained from it. After that, I never - literally never - want to talk about it again.

Despite having a few days' reprieve from school work, Jacey has shifts at the store the next couple of evenings, so it's Friday night before I can talk to him about it. He comes to meet me at work at the end of the day, and spends a few minutes charming the shoes off my colleagues, just as he did when he met them in March (the shorter hair has only helped his cause in this regard, I can't help thinking). When I finally drag him out of there, we hit a restaurant nearby before taking a stroll around downtown in the unseasonably mild November evening. As we walk I gather my resolve and begin.

"Jacey, there's something I have to say. We've spent so much time talking things out and said almost everything we need to, which is why I'm ready to tell you this now. I know it'll be painful for you to hear, but it's important to me to articulate it."

He nods hesitantly, waiting for me to continue.

"It's been a few months that we've been seeing each other again, and we haven't really talked about _that_ day. The day you left me..." I take a breath, steadying my voice before continuing. "The shock and the pain I felt when you told me you were ending our relationship, that you were doing it because you were in love with someone else...that pain was greater than anything I've felt in my life. I'd had some experience with heartbreak because of how I'd felt about Ashton. And of course, losing my dad – I thought nothing could be as bad as that. But being betrayed by you...I was completely unprepared for that. You didn't just break my heart. You broke me."

We've stopped in front of a store window. I'm looking at him and he's staring through the glass, but he doesn't see the holiday-themed array of kitchen gadgets in the window display. His thoughts are miles away to a June morning when we were torn apart.

"For the most part, I wish we'd never had to go through this," I continue. "I could have done without the two months of self-doubt and anguish. But, Jacey..." I reach out, placing my hands on his shoulders, turning him to face me. He finally meets my gaze, and I can see in his eyes the depth of his guilt, the raw emotion there. I'll be so fucking glad to put this topic to bed so I never have to see my sweet boy look like this again. "I can't help thinking somehow you needed to go through it, because it eliminated the doubts you had. You know now, with certainty, what you want."

"You didn't have any doubts when we were together before," he points out, despondency coloring his tone.

"Well, other than the fact that it took me two months to admit I was in love with you. Once I did that I was invested. But it was your first real relationship..."

"It was yours, too!" he retorts. "You were as new to love as I was."

"But I wasn't a neophyte in life," I reply gently. "I'm almost seven years older than you. I've done more, lived on my own longer, had different experiences. I've been around, and been alone for a long time. I knew what I was deciding _against_. I think maybe you needed to see what the alternative was. You're young, Jacey. Not everyone is ready to settle down at 21."

"Great," he replies bitterly. "So while I was on this mission of self-discovery, I put doubts in you - doubts where there were none before. You were already sure, and I destroyed your trust...and now you doubt me."

"I _did_ doubt you." I take his hands in mine. "I don't anymore. I'm not telling you today because I want to upset you. I'm telling you because I'm ready to put it behind us forever. I'm certain now. I'm sure of you, and sure of us. And I want you to know that, now that we have talked about this and I've made my decision, I will never bring this up again. I promise you; never again for the rest of our lives."

"Really?" he whispers, hope visible in every line of his body. "You forgive me?"

"Aww, Jacey." I shake my head. "I forgave you the minute I laid eyes on you in Kingsland. I knew what I wanted. It was the same thing I wanted all along. I needed to give it time, so I'd never accuse myself of blind forgiveness, of rushing back in foolishly. I needed to trust you again before I gave you a commitment. But my heart? That's been yours all along. I told you...the moment you sang to me, I was all in."

He smiles, but his eyes fill with tears. I know my expression mirrors his precisely. "I love you, Jack," he says, his voice choked.

"I love you, too." We kiss, a tender, chaste kiss that lasts only a few seconds, then he leans his head on my shoulder and we hold each other for a moment. The city goes on around us; people laugh and talk with friends as they pass; cars stop and go at the nearby intersection; but we are the center of our own little universe. From now on, it doesn't matter what happens outside our atmosphere - inside, there exists love.

We finally pull apart and start slowly heading back toward his apartment. Though it looks the same, the world somehow feels different than it did a few minutes ago...as though everything shifted two inches and suddenly clicked into its rightful place, into a groove it's been out of for too long. Everything feels _right_.

-o-

Jacey works tomorrow until mid-afternoon, so I'll be heading home tonight and he'll be staying downtown. He reminds me, though, that the ice rink at Millennium Park has opened this week. Despite my reservations about trying skating again, we make plans to go after he finishes work tomorrow.

Naturally I make good on my promise and Saturday night sees us heading to the rink. We each rent a pair of skates and, clutching each other's hands, we venture out onto the ice. I have to admit, we make out far better than I expected. Jacey gets off to a bit of a rough start, landing on his bottom twice in under a minute, laughing each time I help him back to his feet. Pretty soon he gets the hang of it, his natural grace aiding him enough to at least remain upright. It's not long before we're slowly making our way around the rink together, Jacey enjoying it so much that he laughs out loud much of the time. I love how light he seems since our "final" talk, since I told him I've forgiven him and it's behind us. He's not even "the old Jacey" – he's far more confident, more mature, more vocal in his dissent – something I never knew I'd love as much as I do. And now, hell, he's got me back on skates, which I seriously did not believe I would do again (and for anyone else, I likely wouldn't have). Not only that, I'm enjoying it. His laughter and enthusiasm are infectious, and much of the time, I laugh right along with him.

After an hour, though, my ankles are absolutely screaming for me to give them a break, and after pleading my case I manage to cajole Jacey off the ice - though he makes me promise to return with him soon. Back at his apartment, we warm up our chilly fingers, wrapping them around mugs of steaming hot chocolate, still chuckling and teasing each other about our respective spills on the ice.

"Oh my god," Jacey says, massaging his cheeks with his fingertips. "My face hurts from laughing. We have got to do that again."

"Definitely," I agree. "Maybe we can go again next week, after the tree-lighting in Daley Park."

He frowns. "Oh...no, Jack, the tree lighting is the day before Thanksgiving. You won't be in town."

"Oh...didn't I tell you?" I reply innocently. "Yeah, I'm staying in Chicago for Thanksgiving."

"What?" he cries, his face lighting up. "You're not going away?"

I finally allow the smile I've been suppressing. "I explained the situation to my mom, and she totally understands. I'll see her at Christmas, but I just can't leave you here all alone on Thanksgiving, Jacey - not when you're the person I'm most thankful for in the world."

"Oh my god!" He jumps up to kneel beside me on the couch. "Jack, we're going to spend Thanksgiving together! And go to the tree lighting!"

"All of it," I promise. "Anything you want."

He flings himself into my arms and smothers my face in kisses. "Thank you, thank you," he says fervently.

"The pleasure will be all mine," I grin, returning any of the kisses that happen to land near my mouth. "I love you."

"Love you so much, Jackie."

_OH. He called me Jackie._ It's the first time since July, since that phone conversation when I asked him not to. My heart is swelling up at that, when he pulls back with a concerned expression. "Your mom's okay with this? I don't want to upset her..."

Look at him, interrupting his own happiness to be concerned for my mom. "She's fine," I murmur. "And you're the sweetest of sweet boys..." I pull his face to mine and kiss him deeply. I taste the richness of the chocolate and sugar that linger; I smell his shampoo; I feel his lips soft against mine and his cheeks pulling up into a smile beneath my hands.

He climbs slowly onto my lap, straddling my legs without breaking our kiss. My hands move down, sliding over his chest to his hips, where I grip and pull him a little closer to me. He shifts, the movement pressing his groin slightly against mine, and both of us gasp slightly. I cup his ass, feeling the firmness round and warm in my palms. Jacey flexes his hips slightly, pressing his ass back into my hands; I grip a little tighter.

"Yes," he hisses.

"Mmm, such a nice ass," I murmur.

He pulls away enough to pant, "Jackie...I want this so much...please don't say no..."

"I won't say no," I rasp. "I'll never say no again..."

A tiny moan escapes him before our lips meet again. I kiss his neck and the strong line of his jaw and lightly suck on his collarbone. He grinds against me, both of us trapped hard and painful inside our jeans, rubbing, pressing. My hands find their way under his shirt, sliding over his smooth skin, up his back until he lifts his arms, beckoning me to pull the shirt up over his head. As soon as it's off, he's tugging my shirt up too, and it's gone in seconds.

He starts to lean close again, but I put my hands on his shoulders, whispering, "Wait." He watches as I stroke his chest, down over his pecs and across the bare ridges of his abs. I lean into lick one nipple, and he lifts almost off my lap, gasping. One nipple, then the other – each slips into my mouth in turn as Jacey's fingers slide and clutch in my hair. Releasing his nipples I pull him close, humming in enjoyment when his bare chest presses against mine, skin so soft and warm. He leans down to kiss me again. For a long time we make out, hands travelling lovingly over skin and muscle, relearning and remembering. He grinds on my lap until I can no longer stand the two layers of denim that separate us, and I reach for the button on his jeans.

He watches me unbutton and unzip his jeans, but has to get up to remove them. He stands and pushes them down over the curve of his ass until they fall to a puddle on the floor. He reaches his hand out to me to pull me up off the couch, then unbuttons mine as well, urging me to get rid of them. When we're down to our underwear only, he whispers, "My bed...?"

"Yes," I murmur.

He moves to the ladder that goes up to the loft room, but turns back to me, looking sheepish. "Sorry about the ladder – I know it's a little ridiculous."

At this point I wouldn't care if it was stairs, a ladder or a fucking rope bridge that stood between me and Jacey's bed. I assure him it's completely fine, but stop him before he turns to climb. "Wait there," I tell him, and dig into the inside zipper pocket of my warm jacket, pulling out two condoms and a travel-size bottle of lube.

Jacey raises his eyebrows at me. "How did you know?" he asks.

"Um...actually, I've been carrying these around with me for two weeks," I admit. "Just in case."

He grins broadly, nodding. "Okay then." He turns back to the ladder and starts to climb up, and immediately I'm struck by one very distinct advantage of this ladder.

"Wait," I tell him, grabbing his hips when he's on the second rung, stopping him from ascending any further. "This puts your ass directly at eye-level...and Jesus, what a view." I squeeze through his briefs, cupping and sliding a finger along under the elastic at the leg. "I am _so_ going to give you a rim job on this ladder sometime soon." He giggles, and I finish with a little swat on his bottom, telling him. "Okay, you may proceed."

He does continue up the ladder, but I swear he does it more slowly than he started out, exaggerating his movements to keep his ass on display just a bit longer. It's so fucking sexy.

Upstairs he reclines on the bed and I kneel beside him, my fingers at the waistband of his briefs. I hesitate a moment, letting this sink in, the reality of what we're about to do. I spent so long believing I'd never have this again, that eventually the pain would fade, would settle into a bearable numbness. I figured my life would probably go back to a series of mechanical, meaningless hookups. I didn't allow myself to even pretend I was with him again - the aftermath of the fantasy would have hurt too much.

But this isn't a fantasy. The most beautiful, lovable and desirable person I've ever known is mine again. He's warm and real and willing...and he's waiting for me.

"Jackie?" he asks, rising slightly, his face concerned. "What's wrong?"

I smile and lean in to kiss him. "Absolutely nothing," I reply softly.

He grins and relaxes back onto the pillows, lifting a bit to allow me to slide his briefs down over his ass, off his hips. His bare cock is revealed to me and I drink in the sight, gorgeous and achingly arousing. My hands slide up his thighs, into the valley of his groin and up his stomach. He flinches a little, grinning. "Ticklish," he whispers.

"So sexy," I murmur. "So beautiful." He sighs as my hands continue too stroke up and down, from his shoulders to his knees. I watch his face, various shades of rapture passing over it. His cock, hard and flushed, taunts me with a droplet of moisture glistening on the tip and I have to taste it. My tongue swipes up the length and glances around the fleshy, warm head. He gasps, his hands clutching the sheets, and I take the head into my mouth.

"Jesus," he curses under his breath. Slowly, a little at a time, I take it further and further down my throat. I can feel him tremble beneath me, and his hips twitch slightly - it seems he's trying desperately not to thrust. Finally I slip the last inch in, my lips touching the base, and pull back enough that's it's just the head in my mouth again. He moans, his hands coming up to stroke my face and card through my hair. I take him down again, beginning a slow but steady pace. "Oh god...yes...Jackie...yeah..."

I look up a few times, trying to watch his face as I go down on him. His eyes are closed, his mouth open, his breath coming heavily. He's so sexy like this, so goddamn fuckable. "Oh Jack...stop, please - not yet."

I release him as requested but ask, "Are you sure?"

"I'm sure," he replies and tugs on my arms, beckoning me to lie with him. "When I come, I want you inside me...where you belong." It's now his turn to roll me onto my back and divest me of my briefs. As soon as he's thrown them on the floor beside the bed, his hands go immediately to my cock. He touches me - the first time anyone's touched me in five months, the longest dry spell since I started having sex - and my body is instantly on fire. My cock, already hard and needy, strains and begs for the feel of him. I'm helpless to stop the whimper that escapes me.

In a moment I'm surrounded by the wet warmth of his mouth, watching intently as his lips - those impossibly plush lips - advance on me. One hand surrounds my balls, gently pulling down on the sac, and I moan, embarrassingly loud. "Oh my god Jacey...so good...you feel so good...sweet boy..." He sucks hard, the pressure almost painful with my cock being as hard as it is, but it's the most pleasurable pain I've ever felt.

It's been so long since I've had sex that I feel like I can give myself a bit of a pass for the fact that I'm so close to coming after only a few minutes. I have to ask him to stop, as he did with me, because I know if he doesn't I'll be shooting my load down his throat. As he said, I too want to come when we're joined completely.

He releases me and slides up beside me. We both cool down a bit, just kissing and stroking each other for a while. It's a challenge at this close range not to let our cocks touch too much - plus it feels so goddamn good when they do - but we try anyway. I grab the bottle of lube, pouring some onto my fingers. Smiling as he anticipates what's next, Jacey pulls his knees up, his feet lying flat on the bed. He takes a deep breath and exhales when my slick fingers find his ass. Knowing it's been a while for him too, he needs time and preparation. I press one finger inside, past the tightness, sliding my finger around the ring. He gives a contented sigh. This is the easy part; he knows it'll get more challenging the more fingers I add.

Within a minute I'm adding the second, and he hums his approval. I get a bit more lube and with those two fingers I fuck him, in and out, stretching and stroking him. I scissor my fingers in him and turn my hand to face the front of his body, curving my fingers a little, just grazing his prostate. He tightens, his hips thrusting a bit. A slight sheen begins to show on his forehead. "Jackie, more please," he rasps.

"More," I agree. With another few drops of lube I push three fingers in. He gasps, his shoulders now lifting off the bed, as though a flight instinct is warring with him in the face of this intrusion.

"Oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck," he swears. "That's so good."

"God, you're tight; but you're opening up so well, Jacey. Not long now – you'll be ready for my cock." When three fingers are buried as deep as they'll go, I pull out a bit and plunge back in, feeling the muscle relax through our mutual efforts.

"Yes, Jackie," he moans. "So good...want it so much. Please. "

I fuck him a few more times with my fingers before pulling all the way out. I grab a condom and roll it on, slicking it well with lube, and ask, "How do you want me?"

Already on his back, he pulls his knees up to his chest, exposed and open to me. "I want to see you," he replies.

I lean down so I can kiss him deep and slow. "I love you so much," I whisper to him, delighting as his face lights up.

"Love you too," he replies.

Straightening up, I put his feet on my chest and place my cock at his opening. Slowly I begin to press into him, pausing when I see him wince a bit at the pressure and the sting of penetration. The glisten of sweat forms into beads on his forehead. Despite his request to see me, his eyes are clamped shut; he pants and whimpers softly with each slow press. I withdraw only slightly before pushing forward again, each thrust a little deeper than the one before. The control I'm exerting, holding on desperately so I don't just plunge into him, is torturous; sweat trickles down my chest and my back from the strain.

Finally, finally, I am completely buried inside him. He is so fucking hot and tight – I can only imagine how intense this must be for him, stretched open and completely filled. I figure we could both use a minute to breathe and calm down just a bit. I relax my body, moving his legs so they're wrapped around my hips and letting my upper body fall a bit to rest on his. Finally opening his eyes, he smiles, a rapturous, open-mouthed look of awe. I capture his lips with mine before resting my head on his shoulder.

"You're mine again, sweet, precious boy," I sigh against his throat.

"I've always been yours, Jackie," he returns, hoarse with need and emotion. "Always will be."

Wishing to make this last as long as possible, I nuzzle deeper into his neck and simply remain there, lying atop him with our bodies joined so intimately. Devious boy that he is, he very slowly clenches and releases the muscles in his ass, tightening around the base of my cock with each squeeze. "Jaceeeey," I finally moan, "you're killing me."

"Then fuck me," he urges. "Let me feel you everywhere, feel you giving me the fucking we both want." Somehow I manage to hold off just a moment longer, thoroughly enjoying his increasingly dirty attempts to coax me. "Come on, Jackie...don't you want to feel me tight around you when you pound my ass? Don't you want to feel my hot hole squeeze your cock when I come? Don't you want to come when your cock buried is deep inside me?"

Yes I do, very much. All of the above, and thank you.

After a searing kiss I raise my upper body enough that I can start to move in and out of him. The look of rapture returns to his face; he keeps his eyes locked on mine as I take him. It goes on for hours...days...a lifetime in those few moments. All the time we wasted, all the time we have ahead of us...it's all floating out there, somewhere far away, and I'm with my beloved Jacey once more.

It's less fucking than it is a dance, really; a _pas de deux_, twisting, lifting, pressing, seeking. Murmurs and kisses, hands clutching, half smiles and eyes riveted. He comes first, keening long and low as he throbs and trembles in his pleasure...so beautiful. I'm right there, right behind him and it's the best ever, bubbles of pleasure bursting inside, wringing every ounce of strength from my body until I'm left panting and sweating and parched, collapsing onto his chest where his heart pounds love to mine. We remain wrapped together for hours, neither willing to let go.

There has never been anything in my experience to compare with this, the satisfaction I feel. I am replete; I have my love, my partner, and we are on the same page. Together we're forming the root from which our relationship will grow and flourish, to which we will return in times of crisis or uncertainty, and which will always be our first priority – everything else will be peripheral to our commitment to each other.

Home is where the heart is, the saying goes. Well, Jacey has my heart and for the rest of my life, he'll be my home.

-o-

**(It's not over.)**

**I got a PM this week telling me that Jack, Jacey and Deep Dish have been nominated for the Original Character Awards; and that the judges have opted to list DD among the stories for public voting – there are various categories. I don't know where DD falls in the categories, but I am so grateful to those who nominated my boys. Thanks so much for all the love. :) The nominated stories are listed here: fanfiction dot net /community/Original_Character_Awards_Nominees/86249/14/0/1/**


	34. Chapter 34

**It has been my pleasure to share these men and these lives with you over the past 14 months. ****I'm grateful, so grateful, for the love and support and patience you've shown me, giving me the latitude to develop the story as I needed to. All your reviews, PMs, emails, tweets and posts on the DD thread have meant so much to me. Aside from an epilogue, this is the final chapter for Jack and Jacey. **

-o-

_Jack_

The dam broken, we spend the rest of the weekend in bed, venturing downstairs occasionally for food and a shower; but otherwise naked and happy. Sunday night arrives, and with it the necessity for me to go home and prepare for the week at work, but damn, I don't want to. It would be so fucking easy to call in "sick" tomorrow, and I understand now the appeal of a honeymoon. I would happily turn off the phone and ignore emails to hibernate here for at least a week.

However, reality must prevail. After a long, drawn-out goodbye at the door of Jacey's apartment, I finally manage to tear myself away. We'll see each other again Wednesday night for the tree lighting and then we'll spend Thanksgiving together Thursday...but it's still a bitch to leave him.

The shortened work week moves pretty quickly. With various people having taken the full week off at work I'm filling in for a couple of colleagues. Wednesday afternoon we close early and, having brought an overnight bag with me I head straight to Jacey's. We have a late lunch before walking to Daley Plaza to join the throngs of people converging for the lighting ceremony. We manage to snag a spot about thirty feet away from the tree, giving us a great view of the square. I stand behind Jacey, my arms wrapped around his waist and my chin resting on his shoulder. Beside us, a mom stands with a baby girl in a sling. The baby is maybe around a year, perhaps a bit younger, and she stares and stares at Jacey. He doesn't notice right away, until I tell him, "Hey - you've got an admirer, I think."

He looks then, as does the mom who has heard me. Jacey holds the baby's gaze for what seems like an interminable time. She is simply fascinated with him. He smiles and talks to her, and her mom talks to her as well, grinning. Finally the little girl's face breaks slowly into a huge, wide-eyed smile, revealing several perfect little teeth on the top and bottom. She buries her face in her mom's chest, shy for a moment, before looking at us again with beautiful blue eyes. She is completely beguiling.

Grinning, her mom says, "Looks like you've made some new friends, Chelsea-Bun."

"She's beautiful," Jacey tells the mom, to which I add my hearty agreement.

"Thanks," the young woman replies, smiling down at her baby. "She's my one and only. Just the two of us. We go everywhere together."

Jacey nods. "That's like my mom and me. I'm an only child and she's been a single mom all my life."

"Really?" the woman replies with interest. "And you're...I mean, were you...okay?" Suddenly vulnerable, she drops her eyes, placing a kiss on top of the little girl's hat. I try to figure out her age; she looks to be around the same age as Jacey.

"Yeah," Jacey tells her honestly with a reassuring smile. "I was fine. I am fine. Happy and healthy and in love" -here he smiles at me- "and doing well."

The girl nods. "That's encouraging."

I add, "And so is she. Your mom, I mean – she's doing well too."

Getting my point, Jacey eagerly seizes it. "Oh! Yes, definitely. She did an awesome job. I mean, it wasn't always easy, but we were very close. We still are. And she's great. She owns her own business and she's very happy."

Looking grateful, she gives us both a warm smile. "Thank you," she says quietly. "It's hard sometimes, being alone and having someone counting on me for everything."

"My mom would be the first one to tell you it's worth it." Jacey and I both return her smile.

Our attention is diverted then, back to the main event, as Mayor Emanuel and other important people prepare for the big moment. As we wait, huge snowflakes start to drift slowly down around us. A murmur ripples through the crowd, a collective expression of delight. Jacey looks up into the sky, his eyes wide with amazement.

"This is the first time you've seen snow?" I ask.

"Yeah. It's so beautiful," he breathes. Several big white flakes have landed on his hair and as he turns to face me one lights on his cheek, just below his eye. He laughs out loud and on impulse, I kiss it off his face, then capture his lips with mine, kissing him slow and tender.

"_You're_ so beautiful," I tell him. "I love you."

"I love you too. I'm glad we're here together."

"Me too." I kiss him again as the crowd starts to countdown to the tree lighting. He turns and just a few seconds later, the tree is illuminated. It's beautiful and a cheer goes up from the crowd. Fireworks go off overhead and after we kiss again, Jacey pulls out his camera and snaps a picture of the two of us, our heads pressed together, both grinning broadly.

Eventually the crowd begins to disperse and Jacey asks, "Well, are you freezing, or do you still want to skate?"

"I wouldn't mind skating, but I'm not married to it," I reply. "How about you? Are you really cold?"

"I think maybe if we stop at the apartment so I can put on some long underwear, I should be fine," he reasons. "I'd like to go. It's such a beautiful night."

"It is. For your first holiday season in a colder climate, you couldn't have ordered a more perfect evening."

The rink is packed with many who obviously had the same idea. Again we have a great time. We both do better with skating than we did the first time, with far fewer spills, but we still hold gloved hands most of the time. We ask a woman to take our picture in front of a row of trees lit up for the holidays. When we check it out on the viewscreen after, the smiles on our faces are huge and our cheeks are rosy. It looks like the perfect holiday picture. Christmas carols play on speakers around the rink, and the snowflakes continue to fall, gentle and silent.

It's perfect.

Back at Jacey's, we make love the rest of the night, insatiably hungry for each other. It's difficult to adequately express how I feel when we're in each other's arms. If I have to choose just one word, it's complete. Within our relationship, I lack nothing - there's no need or want I have that he can't or won't fulfill.

We sleep in the next morning, finally dragging ourselves out of bed around ten-thirty. We've been invited to spend Thanksgiving with the Newtons. When I told Mike I'd be staying in the city, he asked us to join them, adding that even if my plans changed and I ended up in California after all, Jacey should still spend the day with them. Despite how much time I've been spending with Jacey since we got back together, my friendship with Mike hasn't suffered. We always make time for each other, getting together about once a week - whether for a beer after work, or to meet for lunch, or just to hang out. He's still my very good friend, and a kindred spirit. I'll always be grateful for all the times he was there for me when Jacey and I were apart. Whether I needed to talk about it, or needed to _not_ talk about it - Mike supported me through all of it.

Now that we're both back in a better place in our personal lives, it's awesome to share the happy times with him too. I'm looking forward to the four of us hanging out int he future. Today Mike's boyfriend Nicolas will be there, along with his immediate family: his brother Leo and sister-in-law Sally, who is about four months pregnant with the couple's first child; and Nicolas' parents who have come to Chicago for the holiday weekend. In addition to this group converging on Mr. & Mrs. Newton's, there's one small surprise I'm working on for Jacey, something I've been cooking up with a little help from a new friend.

We head uptown to my apartment. Jacey has promised to bring pecan pie for the dinner buffet and he's going to prepare it at my place. Once he's up to his elbows in pastry, it's time for me to put my plan in motion.

"Oh, damn!" I exclaim. "I promised I'd bring a bottle of wine to dinner. I forgot to pick some up yesterday."

"Oops," he replies absentmindedly, distracted by his cooking. "I'm sure they'll understand."

"Easy for you to say, Betty Crocker," I tease. "I'd better run out and grab a bottle."

Now he looks up at me. "What, now? Can't we just get a bottle on the way?"

"Well, it might take me a while to find a place that's open."

"Ah."

"Don't worry, I'll be back in lots of time," I promise. "Just go ahead and do what you need to do, get dressed and all that, and I'll be back in a little bit."

"Well...okay." He looks dubious, but doesn't argue. I ask if there's anything he wants from the store but he shakes his head. I give him a kiss and get out while the getting's good, finally allowing a great big grin to spread across my face when I close the door behind me. Step one accomplished.

About an hour later I get a text message on my phone from him. _Jesus - did you have to go to Indiana to find a store?_ I show it to the person who now accompanies me and we both laugh. I quickly text back, _Found what I was looking for. Home soon._

I know he's suspicious - he'd have to be awfully dense not to know something's up - but I'm pretty sure he hasn't figure out what I'm up to. Therefore, it should be a pretty big surprise when I open the door to the apartment and he jumps up from the couch, whirling around to find me standing in the doorway, looking over Leah's shoulder.

After a split second during which he's frozen completely still, he shouts, "Mom!" He steps on the seat of the couch and jumps the back in his hurry to get to her.

"Surprise, baby!" she greets him as he embraces her tightly. "Happy Thanksgiving!"

"You're here! I can't believe it," he gasps, his voice sounding choked. From where I stand I can see Leah's face and her eyes are misty. I start to inch away, intending to give them some space, but Jacey catches sight of me.

"Oh, no you don't!" he cries. "You're in this too - come on." He pulls one arm away from Leah and holds it out to me. She mirrors his actions and they both beckon me into a very warm, loving three-person hug. "Thanks so much, Jackie. Thank you for doing this."

"I was just a facilitator," I tell him, but Leah objects.

"Not true!" she interjects. "It was his idea."

"You were already thinking about it-"

"And then he tried to pay for my ticket-"

"It was going to be a gift to you both."

"But I told him if he could get me to and from the airport, I'd look after the rest."

"I did do that. Well, I also insisted you let me put you up."

"You did, and thank you, honey."

"You're welcome," I tell her warmly.

"So," she concludes, turning back to Jacey, "here I am!"

Jacey has watches his exchange with his head bobbing back and forth as though he's watching a tennis match. He shakes it slowly. "You guys are a little scary. The two of you together? The world has no idea what's been unleashed." Leah and I both laugh, but Jacey is still looking at me critically. "What else?"

"Pardon?" I ask innocently.

"Honey, that's it. That's the surprise," Leah assures him.

Jacey purses his lips and raises one eyebrow at me. "No, Jack's still not telling us something. I know you," he adds, pointing a finger in my direction. "What else?"

I am so busted. "Well, the two of you are going to stay here tonight, and then, after Jacey's done work tomorrow you're going to have a night out on the town. Tomorrow night I've booked you a room at the Blackstone Hotel, and, Leah, since Jacey told me how much you love tapas, I made dinner reservations for you at _Mercat a la Planxa_."

Leah's mouth drops while Jacey just shakes his head. "I knew it," he smiles.

"Jack, that's so generous. It's too much, I think," Leah adds slowly.

"It's okay, Mom," her son replies good-naturedly, slipping his arm over her shoulder and pressing a kiss on her cheek. "You're new. You'll learn." The expression is affectionate and indulgent. "Thanks, Jackie."

"Is the hotel room really necessary?" she asks, uncertain. "I was planning to just stay at Jacey's..."

"Leah, with all due respect, I don't think you understand how truly tiny Jacey's place is, and his couch really isn't comfortable for sleeping on. I was going to just give you my place for the weekend, but I thought it'd be nice to be downtown. Anyway, I want the two of you to have as much time together, uninterrupted, as you can cram into a weekend."

"You're a good man, Jack." Leah hugs me, her gratitude evident. "Thank you."

-o-

Thanksgiving dinner is lovely. We meet Nicolas' parents and introduce Leah to the entire group. Everyone is very welcoming. Though these are actually three separate families - the Newtons, the Kourises and the Dawes – plus me, it feels more like one large family gathering. The women get along famously, with the three moms staying at the table long after dinner talking about motherhood and sharing baby stories with the mom-to-be. Mr. Newton & Mr. Kouris disappear to the garage to smoke cigars, and the rest of us guys watch a football game. I can't help thinking that this is what family is for so many gay men and women who don't have support of their own families; for soldiers who are away from home serving their country; for countless others who, for whatever reason, can't be with their relatives. We all end up forming attachments with the kindred spirits we find, choosing to let family be not just those who share our blood but those who share our lives.

So on Thanksgiving, I'm thankful for family, the ones chosen for me and those I've chosen for myself, and for the love and acceptance we all have for each other.

-o-

Leah and Jacey have a wonderful visit, enjoying their dinner at _Mercat_ and a very comfortable evening of luxury at the Blackstone. Saturday is clear, bright and cold. I go downtown to meet them and we take Leah up the Willis Tower to see the beautiful view of the city from up there. We have lunch out and then we visit the Art Institute of Chicago. Jacey has already been there numerous times since he moved - he's making very good use of the membership I got him for his birthday - so he knows exactly which exhibits he wants to see. We spend a very pleasant afternoon wandering from one room to the next. In one room Leah stops in front of a huge canvas. Jacey tells me it's the first example of a style called pointillism (whatever that is).

"Oh my god - this is the one from Ferris Bueller!" Leah exclaims.

Our reactions are varied. I frown as I attempt, and fail, to remember a scene from the movie with this painting. Jacey's reaction is less subtle. "Who?"

"Ferris Bueller - the movie?" Leah replies, turning to him aghast. "You don't know Ferris Bueller's Day Off?"

Jacey's face is a blank. Leah looks to me for support. "Jack, tell me you've seen it - or at least heard of it?"

"I saw it once," I reply. "I don't remember the painting, though. Where was it?"

"It was _here_, at AIC," she replies, exasperated. "Oh, never mind. Obviously I failed you, Jacey, if you've never even heard of a movie that defined my youth."

She doesn't let it go. All the long walk back to Jacey's apartment, she keeps mentioning 80s movies in hopes Jacey's heard of one of them.

"Fast Times at Ridgemont High?"

"No."

"Sixteen Candles?"

"Maybe...is that a horror movie?"

"In the sense that it's about the trials of being a teenager."

"Oh. Then no."

"How about Pretty in Pink?"

The look of scorn on his face is comical. "I don't think I'd ever watch something called 'Pretty in Pink'."

"Fine. The Breakfast Club?"

"Sounds like a sandwich at Subway."

Poor Leah. I could perhaps jump in and tell her that I've heard of all these movies and seen most, but I don't think she actually cares if _I_ have. Also, I'm enjoying this way too much.

"Okay, last one. Can't Buy Me Love."

"No."

"Oh my god. Patrick Dempsey's hair in that one is...well, let's say I'm sure he wishes there was no photographic evidence of the hair he used to have."

"Patrick Dempsey from Grey's Anatomy?"

Leah laughs. "Yeah, if McDreamy had a mop of curly hair and no access to styling products."

"That might actually be worth seeing," Jacey speculates.

Therefore, when we get back up to Lakeside to my place, we spend the evening with Can't Buy Me Love, courtesy of the streaming video-on-demand service. It's pretty dated, but we end up laughing a lot. The most enjoyable part for me is being able to observe Jacey and Leah together, interacting like this. They have such a great relationship and I'm looking forward to getting to know Leah better. This weekend has certainly been a good start.

Saturday night I pull my couch out into the seldom-bothered-with sofa bed for Jacey and me, giving Leah my bed. We curl up together, the two of us, in the sofa bed and fall asleep exhausted and content. Leah will go back to Austin tomorrow, Jacey will go home tomorrow night, and we'll all go back to our regular lives on Monday morning. It's been a great weekend.

-o-

The early part of December is a flurry of activity in our lives, often keeping us in different parts of the city, except for perhaps one or two nights a week. Jacey has exams during the first few weeks of the month and he feels confident about his overall results for the semester. He has absolutely thrived on his classes and the community of SAIC, and as a result has done extremely well, even with having to adapt to a new city. After finishing his exams, his schedule is a bit more open. When he's not working at the art store, he spends his time with me. I give him his own key so he can come and go when I'm not home.

One night about ten days before Christmas I come home from work to find him setting up a small artificial tree in my apartment, on the end table that sits in front of my living room window. It's only about three feet tall. Jacey is looping strands of white lights around it. He looks up and grins when I come in the door.

"Hey!" he greets. "Surprise!"

"Surprise is right! Where did this come from?"

"Someone in my building bought it, but then she decided she wasn't coming back after Christmas – she's flunking out, which I'm sure will make her parents' Christmas a joyful one - so she has to clean out her apartment. She was having an 'everything must go' giveaway this morning, and I got the tree and the lights." He finishes arranging the last of the lights and stands back, looking at his work. "I know you said you've never put up a tree, but I figured that was probably more of a practical matter, rather than that you're, like, anti-Christmas or something."

"Yeah," I agree, "I always travel at Christmas so it feels like sort of a waste to put up a tree when there won't be any gifts under it."

"Of course. That won't be the case this year, though."

"You're right." I give him a hug and kiss. "Thanks, Jacey. It's really nice to have."

"Unfortunately I don't have any ornaments for it," he muses.

I suggest that after dinner, we talk a walk to the hardware store and pick some out together. At the store we debate colors, settling on pale blue and silver, and pick out some small glass ornaments that look like they won't overpower our little tree. After choosing the decorations, we poke around the store a while. It's a small, cramped little neighborhood store, but it's also sort of a treasure trove. They have everything, and we both end up picking up a couple of neat little household items. It feels very domestic, hanging out at the hardware store with my boyfriend on a Wednesday night.

Even more domestic is decorating a tree with him. He puts his iPod in the stereo dock and plays Christmas carols while we hang the decorations on the tree. It takes all of ten minutes, with it being such a small tree. When it's done we plug in the lights and stand back to admire our work. Jacey tells me to sit on the couch, and he goes around the apartment turning off all the lights, until the only ones left on are those on the tree. Then he joins me, and we sit snuggled together, looking at the tree and listening to the soft carols play. Through the window behind the tree we can see snowflakes falling thickly outside. It's one of those perfect moments that happen all too seldom in real life.

-o-

Jacey is scheduled to work the last time before Christmas, on the 21st. He'll fly to Austin on the 22nd, the same day I fly to Fresno, so the night of the 21st is our last night together before parting for a week. He finishes work around the same time I do, and I meet him at his apartment to pick up his luggage before we drive uptown to my place. He's got his luggage to take to the airport tomorrow. We're going to make dinner together tonight and then exchange gifts.

Even something as mundane as making dinner together is enjoyable, as we take our time and talk about our day, and about what we plan to do at our respective familial homes – aside from the obvious Christmas celebrations. Jacey plans to visit his old housemates – I know he's dying to see what's been done to his old room – and see some friends from the art program he was in at UT Austin. In California, my family and I are going to meet up with Ashton and Kathleen, as well as David and Kay, Ashton's parents whom they'll be visiting. Bakersfield is about halfway between Malibu and Fresno, and we've made plans to meet for dinner there. I'm absolutely dying for some real Mexican food – not the Americanized stuff they have in the north – and I know Ashton complains about the same thing in Seattle, so we're going to a Mexican restaurant.

I'm really looking forward to seeing my family, especially since I didn't get home for Thanksgiving. I've missed my mom and my brothers, and Gram is alive, though Mom says she sleeps much of the time now. I'm going to hang with my brothers, visit with my mom, probably talk endlessly about Jacey, soak up some California sunshine, and just enjoy being home.

After dinner Jacey and I sit in front of our little tree, which now has a few gifts under it. Jacey insists I open a gift first, and he hands me a red-wrapped parcel with a sparkly silver bow on it. Inside is a vegetarian cookbook, plus several gift certificates from a cooking school just north of the Loop. I look up to find him looking expectantly at me. "You said last month you should take the time to learn to cook a bit more, because you wanted to stop buying so much takeout," he explains. "There are three classes of just vegetarian food, and one called the Joy of Chocolate." He grins, looking a little sheepish. "I might have been thinking about myself when I bought that one. And the instructor I talked to recommended this book for vegetarian recipes. There's easy to make stuff when you're in a hurry, and there are also more difficult recipes."

"How cool is this? It would have taken me forever to get around to looking for classes." I lean in and give him a hug and kiss. It's so thoughtful – and so like him – to remember me making a comment like that and to file it away for gift-giving. "Thank you, sweet boy. I'll enjoy cooking for you."

He smiles, his face flushing with pleasure. I pull a gift out from under the tree for him and he unwraps it carefully, trying not to rip the paper. I had a little help with this gift from Jacey's friend at the art store. His mouth gapes open and his eyes widen when the paper falls away to reveal the contents, a set of sable paintbrushes. "Isabey brushes? Jackie – you got me Isabey sable brushes?" he practically squeals. "Oh my god! I've been drooling over this set for weeks! How did you know?"

"I asked Allie for help," I admit. "I know you've been talking about sable brushes for ages but I had no idea what to look for, which brand was good quality, so I stopped into the store one day on my lunch and Allie helped me out."

"This is amazing!" he says, unzipping the folder that holds the brushes and pulling one out. He closes his eyes and gently brushes the tips of the bristles over his cheek, humming rapturously. "So soft," he breathes. "Thanks, Jackie. You spoil me."

"As much as possible," I affirm, returning the kiss and hug he gives me.

"Okay, your turn!" he says, and pulls another box from under the tree. I untie the ribbon and lift the lid, and peel back the tissue paper to reveal an oil portrait of my parents. I don't know how he did it, because I just have two pictures of my dad up in my apartment and this doesn't look like it was taken from either of them, but he has portrayed both of them beautifully. They're laughing and looking at each other, and the love is evident in their eyes.

I gasp and my hand flies to my mouth. I can only stare, speechless, at the likeness. I feel Jacey slide a bit closer to me on the couch and put his arm around my trembling shoulders. His hand squeezes my arm. "I emailed your mom," he says softly. "I asked her to email me some pictures so I could do this for you."

"It's...it's them. It's so perfectly them," I manage to stumble.

"Really? I hoped I was capturing them, but just going from photos..."

"Ohhh, Jacey," I breathe. "You did. It's exactly right. You're such a talented artist." I swallow the lump in my throat and turn to kiss him tenderly. "Thank you. I love you."

"I love you, Jackie." His arm over my shoulder squeezes tight. "I have another one, of you and your brothers. It's a gift for your mom, if you don't mind delivering it to California when you go."

"Of course. She'll be so touched." I kiss him again before murmuring against his lips, "I have something else for you."

"I hoped you might," he replies, letting his free hand trail up my thigh to brush over my crotch.

I grin and retort, "Not that. A package for you to unwrap."

"Can do." His fingers slip under the waistband of my jeans and start to undo the button.

I laugh now. "Okay, stop that for a second. Not that I'm saying no, of course. But there is one more gift I want to give you." I slide out of his arms and stand, holding a hand out to help him up. "It's in the bedroom."

He shakes his head, teasing, "You're making this too way easy."

In the bedroom I close the door so he can see what's on the back of it. Normally, my robe – a soft, thick plush black garment that has a deep knap like a teddy bear, and feels simply amazing against bare skin – hangs from a hook on the back of the door. Jacey adores this robe, and is always stealing it on the mornings when he has stayed overnight here. I have moved the hook, shifting it from the middle of the door to one side and hanging another beside it. On the hook new hook is a brand new robe, identical to mine in every way except the color, which is white. I've also stuck a red bow on the top of the hook.

"Oooh, for me?" he exclaims. He immediately strips off his shirt and pulls down the new robe, which is freshly laundered by me and smells like lavender. He snuggles into it luxuriously and wraps it tight around his torso. "Oh god, it's so soft and warm."

"You look fucking sexy in it, too," I compliment him. He turns his eyes at me coquettishly, then turns his body away, undoing his jeans and letting them fall to his feet with his briefs. When he has nothing on under the robe, he walks slowly to the bed, his ass flexing under that soft plush. "_So_ fucking sexy," I repeat.

He lies on the bed, propped up on one elbow and looking completely delicious and seductive. "Oh, here's one more present for you to unwrap, Jackie."

I manage to close my mouth and I move to the side of the bed to join him. I strip off my clothes as he watches. When I get to my briefs I ask, "Everything?"

"Yes," he hisses. "Lose those too." I drop them, uncovering my half-hard cock and he licks his lips hungrily. He rolls onto his back and brings his hands to the belt of the robe. "This gift even has a bow. All you have to do is give it a little tug..."

"Wait!" I interrupt as inspiration strikes me. I go out to the living room and grab the set of sable brushes and bring them back to the bedroom. Jacey looks curious as I pull out one of the brushes, one where the bristles form a wide, soft fan, like a fringe of eyelashes. I climb onto the bed with him and untie his belt, loosening the top of the robe enough to expose his chest. Slowly and very softly, I brush it over his skin, dragging it over his nipples, up to his collarbone and down to his navel. He shivers, goosebumps popping up across his skin.

"Fuck, that feels amazing," he murmurs. Loosening his robe more, I brush down across his lower abdomen, just above his pubic hair, before glancing it over his hardening cock. He twitches, his hands bunching into fists at his side. His hips thrust gently upward. Repeatedly I brush over his cock and his balls, occasionally dropping lower to stroke his inner thighs.

When he can't stand it any longer, he raises up a bit to kiss me, and pulls me back down with him. The brushes are forgotten as we become lost in passionate kisses, moaning and pressing against each other. I slip the robe the rest of the way off him and drop it to the floor beside us. For the next hour our world consists only of each other, kisses and soft skin and the burn of stubble against thighs, _fuck yes_, deeply rounded lips, gasps and wandering hands, and deep and hot and _oh my god so good,_ and sweaty skin and _you're so beautiful, _fireworks exploding white hot, trembling limbs and deep, slow kisses..._you and me forever love..._

Long after Jacey has fallen asleep in my arms I lie awake, stroking his hair, feeling the even rise and fall of his chest with each breath. Every once in a while I have a moment where I look back over the past year and worry that it's all been a dream, that I'll wake up to find myself back in Seattle, still pining over Ashton, without my beautiful, sweet boy in my life at all, without Mike or Nicolas, or any of the other friends I've made in Chicago.

But it's not a dream. This really is my life and this year really did happen. It had some of the worst moments in my life, there's no denying that; but I can't entirely regret even those moments. Everything that has happened has brought me _here_. I have a love – it's bright and golden, and growing deeper every day. I have everything in the world to look forward to, and Jacey to share it with.

This Christmas we won't be together, and I'll miss him very much, but we'll both be back in Chicago before New Year's, and we'll be spending the night at Mike's place, where Nicolas will, by then, be a permanent resident. He has decided to return to Chicago, and will be moving in with Mike during the week after Christmas. I'm glad for them both; they've found so much happiness with each other.

Jacey and I have agreed, too, that we won't spend another Christmas away from each other. Next year we'll travel together to wherever we end up going, or maybe we'll have our families come to Chicago. Either way, we've got each other now, and we're never, ever letting go.

-o-

**Last week the state of Illinois legalized civil unions for same-sex couples – an awesome victory for human rights! In other political news, Rahm Emanuel is running for mayor of Chicago right now. Since Mayor Daley is not running for re-election, and Rahmbo is the only candidate I know, I've made a rather presumptuous prediction. We'll see how it plays out. **

**I've been asked numerous times recently whether I'll write another**** serial fanfic after DD is complete – I won't. I have had the plot for an original fiction rambling around in my head for almost two years, and it's time to start putting it to paper. I can see, however, writing an occasional one-shot, because I enjoy it so much – so keep me on your author alerts. :) I also have no plans to get rid of my Twitter account (because I'm addicted to you all).  
**

**As mentioned above, I will write an epilogue for DD. It is my intention to have it finished before the end of Dece****mber, but on the off chance that it isn't, I wish you all a safe and joyous holiday season, and a wonderful new year. **

**xoxo Katie Starfish**


	35. Epilogue

**As I did with OTT, I will compile the DD story and "Meet Me in Chicago" outtake into a single PDF and make it downloadable from my blog – I expect it'll take me a couple of weeks to spiffy it up. ****If you're interested in downloading it, keep an eye on my blog or my profile here. You can also find a post on my blog, now, with some photos and other goodies pertaining to the epilogue. **

**I have loved being part of your lives. **

**xoxo Katie**

-o-

_Jacey_

He moves in me, his lips parted as his breath comes in heavy gasps. His chest, defined and gorgeous, glistens with a light sheen of sweat. He fills me so completely, stretching me as always with exquisite pressure. His hair is mussed in gorgeous disarray. His eyes peer into my soul, a narrow ring of vivid blue surrounding pupils blown with desire.

"Jacey...uhhh, so good..." he rasps as my hips rise to meet his thrusts. I can only moan in reply, too far gone for coherency. His hand, still slick with the lube he spread on himself, comes between us, firmly wrapping around my cock. He slows his thrusts to match the languid pace with which he strokes me.

Eventually, the pressure and the pleasure and the intensity build to a point where I am this close, and I know he's right on the edge with me, and just one more stroke and I'll be gone gone gone...

...and then he freezes. Still hovering over me, his face inches above mine, he looks deep into my eyes, gaze so intense it's nearly a frown.

"W-what?" I finally manage to stammer.

"Marry me..." he whispers. I gasp, and in a tone barely above a sigh, full of hope and tenderness and promise, he asks again, "Marry me?"

"Yes...oh god, Jackie, yes..."

His eyes close and his head falls back. He groans, plunging into me once more, stroking me and we're both coming hard, crying out, tumbling through open space, buffeted by invisible hands that reach into our souls, weaving us together, inextricable, steadfast.

When the peak is past, he relaxes, his body falling onto me, covering me from head to toe as his lips find mine.

"I love you," I murmur against his mouth.

He returns my endearments passionately, adding, "Happy birthday, sweet boy."

It's a long time before we release each other, remaining wrapped together after he has slid off me and settled into the crook of my arm, his head resting on my shoulder. "That wasn't exactly how I planned to ask you," he eventually muses, stroking my chest. "I had this speech prepared and I was going to take you up the Space Needle. But then I was watching you and you're so beautiful and I love you so much...it just sort of came out. I'm sorry if it was...tacky...or, I don't know - not romantic enough..."

"No, Jackie, it was perfect." He pulls back enough to meet my eyes. "It was spontaneous and genuine and intimate and completely from your heart. I love that I didn't see it coming. If you'd taken me up the Space Needle and started to make a speech, I'd have known what was going to happen. That would have been fine, too, but...this is so you. From the day we met, you've found ways to surprise me, and it's the little surprises, the little kindnesses that are unexpected and so appreciated...those are the things that make you who you are. I wouldn't change a thing about you, Jack. And I can't wait to be your husband."

He stares at me as I speak, his eyes wide and his expression unfathomable. A moment later his eyes fill with tears and he blinks, spilling a wet path down each cheek. He buries his face in my chest, seeming embarrassed.

"Hey," I say, squeezing him gently, "isn't that my job?" His only response is a sniffle. After he takes a moment to retain his composure, he mutters something, but it's muffled by his position. "Sorry, Jackie, what did you say?"

He lifts his face again. "I've never been so happy." After another sniffle he adds, "I didn't know it was possible to be this happy until I met you. Thank you."

After a few more kisses I pull myself away to get a warm washcloth from the bathroom. After cleaning myself off I warm it again and take it to him, wiping off his boneless body and then pulling the blankets up around him. He hums in contentment, his eyes already closing. I slide back into bed beside him and he sleepily kisses me goodnight. Just before he drops off, he mumbles, "But when people ask, we tell them the Space Needle story..."

I giggle and agree, wanting to keep the real story of his proposal as a sweet, private secret known only to the two of us. Moments later he has fully relaxed into a peaceful slumber.

For my part, though, rather than being relaxed, I feel too excited to sleep. After tossing and turning awhile, I get up, pulling on a pair of sleep pants and padding across the carpeted floor to sit in a chair by the window. I look out over the Seattle night skyline from our room on the tenth floor of the Hotel Max. I find myself thinking back over the events of today, and the trip we've made this week to see Edward & Jasper's baby, Annie, who is about seven weeks old; and how we got to where we are now, on my 24th birthday.

-o-

That first winter I spent in Chicago was pretty well perfect. Jack and I rang in the New Year together, along with Mike and Nicolas at their home, which was a fantastic start to the year. We skated that winter, Jack taught me to ski - both of which I grew to love doing - and I continued to fall in love with Chicago. I felt completely at home at SAIC with its thriving community. I kept working at the art store, adding a little to my savings and loving the employee discount, and I made new friends there, of varying ages and genders and walks of life, each with a talent to share and a story to tell. I felt a sense of acceptance there that I hadn't even found at UT Austin, and it eventually dawned on me that it was the same feeling I'd had the first time I went to art camp: these were _my_ people.

As the end of the school year drew closer, though, and I had to start seeking summer employment, I was faced with a dilemma. I had a standing offer to return to Texartopia, and I'd gotten an email from Judith, my old boss there, letting me know that Matt had already turned down an offer to return for the summer. She said she wanted to pass it along, just in case it had a bearing on my decision.

Well, it didn't hurt; but truth be told, I was already seriously considering returning, Matt or no. I knew it would be my last summer there, and the camp fit so well with my personality, my philosophies...it was one of the few times in my life that I'd ever felt absolutely certain I was making a direct impact. I felt useful. I felt great there.

So when I considered that - a summer of helping channel new, fresh young energy and talent, and swimming and hiking and singing around campfires - versus a summer stuck in an art store in the city, there wasn't much contest. It was possible I could have found something similar in the Chicagoland area, but it wouldn't have been the same. I wouldn't have seen the same kids, the ones I thought of as mine. They'd started out in my cabin in their first year, feeling out of place and lonely until everything clicked for them. I wouldn't have gotten to see them as the newly-minted teenagers they were now. Some had deeper voices, others didn't; some had hit growth spurts and were nearly as tall as me, others were still scrawny and gangly. But they were still my boys. I knew I'd also forge friendships with the new crop of eleven-year-olds, as I had before.

But before I went, before I could give Judith a firm answer, I had to discuss it with Jack. There was no way I would make that decision without talking to him first. I chose a night in early March, a Friday evening when I was going to stay over for the night, and I simply poured my heart out to him. The thought of being so far from him again, even for four short months, was one of the few things that gave me pause. There was also the consideration of how he would feel about me returning there - and it _was_ a consideration, truly. For as many unpleasant memories as I had to exorcise from the place, he also had the memories left by the previous summer of being alone in Chicago while I was in Texas. I told him all of this as I opened up to him. He listened to it all, calmly, quietly; nodding here and there, but otherwise just taking it in.

Finally, when I had shared my list of pros and cons and talked myself out, we sat in silence as he considered it. Eventually he spoke.

"First," he began, "thank you for sharing this with me while you're still weighing your options, and not after you've already made up your mind. We've both been working so hard on telling each other what we're really feeling and thinking, and moments like this are encouraging." We share a smile and then I nod for him to continue.

"Second, it sounds like you've given really thorough consideration to all sides of this." He took my hand in his. "What is your heart telling you to do?"

I hesitated a moment, but he wanted a real, honest answer. I needed to give him that. "I want to go. It'll be my last year there. Next year, I'll have graduated and fingers crossed, I'll begin my 'real' job. This is it."

He nodded. "Then that's your answer, sweet boy."

"So you're okay with that?"

He gave me a wan smile. "I'll miss you. You'll be back in August, though..."

"I will. I'll be back to you, Jackie."

"When you get back..." he began, but hesitated.

"Yes?" I prompted.

"Will you move in with me?" My eyes widened and he continued, "I was going to ask you when you were done this year, if you had planned to stay in the city for the summer. But if you're not, then maybe you'd consider it when you return?" His face was so hopeful.

"Oh. Um..." I had no idea he'd been thinking about this. I was caught off-guard and not _quite_ in a good way. "Jackie, that's...I'm..."

His expression dimmed a little, slipping into uncertainty. "What?"

"Well...I appreciate the offer, and I do _want_ to live with you – you know I'm in this with you _forever_..."

"Yes?" he said slowly, waiting for the other shoe to fall.

"I'm not quite ready."

"Oh."

"Yet."

"Oh."

"I just...Jack, look at me – no, don't look away, please – just let me explain what I mean, okay?" _Yikes_. I'd steeled myself for a potentially difficult discussion, but I thought it would be about camp, not about living together. "I love you – I love you more than anything in the world. You are the one for me, Jack, and I'm 100% sure of that. But...I'm also really enjoying living on my own right now. This is completely new for me. I've never had a place that was just mine, and I love it so much. When we move in together – and that's _when_, not if, because to me it's a sure thing – when we move in, that's it. I won't go anywhere without you again. I want a little more time to enjoy this now, before that happens. And...there are other things too – my place is close to school, it's right around the corner from work, assuming they hire me back when I return, and I love living downtown. It's close to everything I need, with the exception of your apartment. I love it here too, Jack. You know how I feel about this building, and of course, this is where you are. I just would like to live on my own a bit longer, and I'd like to live at the residence until I graduate next year."

He didn't answer immediately, his face serious as he considered my speech. Finally after an interminable pause he nodded slowly. "Okay."

"Okay?" I repeated.

"Yes. I understand what you're saying, and I understand feeling that way. I remember feeling the same, actually, the first time I lived without a roommate, and it worked so well for me that I've continued living alone for six years. The only reason I want to change that now is because it's you – because I fell in love with you. I'm ready to _not_ live alone anymore, ready to share a home with you, but I can wait until you're ready too. Knowing you're on the same page – or at least that it's in your plans – makes it okay."

"Thank you," I told him honestly. "Thanks for understanding and for allowing me this."

He nodded. "Sometimes I forget how young you still are. I don't want you to miss out on doing things, or give them up just because I'm older. I want you to experience everything you want to. You should travel, see things, do and learn new things."

"There's not much I want that doesn't involve you, Jack," I replied, taking his hands in mine. "If I travel somewhere I want you with me. I want us to experience new things _together_."

Jack nodded, a smile brightening his face for the first time since I turned down his offer. "I want that too."

"Good, then we _are_ on the same page. Just slightly off-schedule."

"Well, I've got time," he murmured, drawing me into his arms. "I know I get impatient sometimes, but really, as long as it's you and me, take all the time you need. I want you to be ready to do this, because like you said, once we're together, that's it."

"That's something else we agree on, then."

-o-

The summer, overall, was great. On a work front, I loved being back at the camp, seeing my kids again and forging relationships with the newbies. On the other hand, I missed Jack so damn much I could hardly stand it. We saw each other every weekend I had off, with him coming to Austin and me going to Chicago, but it was always so hard to say goodbye to him. It was nice to be back in Texas, though, as I got to spend time with my mom, and to get to know her boyfriend Brad and his daughter Emma.

Brad seemed like a very decent guy. He was friendly and kind, quite intelligent and knowledgeable. He seemed to have a great relationship with Emma, and it was pretty obvious he and Mom were getting pretty close. Emma was shy at first, but as we spent more time together, she relaxed, being more open and allowing her real personality to come through. I realized she was very smart and had a good sense of humor. She liked my mom, too, which was good. If this progressed, as it looked like it would, I didn't want Mom to have to deal with any step-family resentment. When Jack would stay in Kingsland for the weekend, everyone would end up at my mom's house for a barbecue, or we'd all go swimming in the river...we had a lot of fun and it was nice to get to know each other under casual, easy circumstances.

Jack and I also made our fourth of July visit to Seattle that summer – a year later than expected, but better late than never. I met the rest of his friends, all of whom welcomed me like I was just one of the group. Even Jasper, who admitted to me that he'd wondered if Jack made a mistake getting involved with me again, asked me to forgive him for his misjudgment. I told him I couldn't blame him for having reservations about me after what happened. I knew he was just being protective, and I was grateful Jack had such loyal friends.

We had a great visit. Seattle was a little too damp and mild for me – it was July, for crying out loud – but we had a good time anyway, finishing up with the annual barbecue at Dr. and Mrs. Cullen's house and fireworks over Lake Union. Jack's lips on mine as the fireworks burst above us, was an extraordinary moment in my life.

At the end of the summer I had a few weeks off before I had to return to school. Jack and I went to California to visit his mom and brothers. Jack had been called home unexpectedly in early April because his grandmother had passed away. I so wanted to go with him, to support him and do what I could to help the family as they grieved. Unfortunately, it was right before finals and I had three projects due on the day the funeral was to take place. I tried to get extensions, but my profs, as understanding as they were, all agreed it was just too close to the end of the term. I almost went anyway, but Jack – and my mom – wouldn't hear of it. In the end I simply held Jack as he cried, grieving not only for his Gram but feeling the wound of his dad's loss reopened too. I also had a phone conversation with Laura, Jack's mom, when I called to give her my condolences. We talked for over an hour. It was the first time I'd spoken to her, and it was the beginning of a beautiful friendship. My mom, too, called Laura, and over the course of the following months, they got to be good friends by phone before they ever met.

So by the time I visited California in August, I actually wasn't nervous to meet Laura. I felt like I already knew her. It was great to meet Aaron and Sean. As different as they were from each other, they were both really cool in their own way, and by the time I left they were like brothers I never had. All I felt from the entire family was warmth and complete acceptance. Laura was as wonderful in person as she'd been on the phone. I left feeling like I'd been adopted into the Charles family.

-o-

Early the next year when I was in my last semester of school, Jack mentioned that he was thinking about moving. As much as we both loved his apartment, with being so far away from family and having them visit us it made sense to have a place that better accommodated guests – or at least one that didn't require anyone to sleep in the living room. He also asked how I felt about buying a place, instead of looking for another rental. It was obvious that he was thinking of it as our place, despite that I wasn't yet living with him, and I was deeply touched by his consideration, including me in the decisions and buying process. Still being a student, we both knew I wouldn't be able to contribute financially for a while yet, but it would be _our_ home.

I told him whatever he was comfortable with would make me happy too. Mike recommended his real estate agent to us and we began the process of looking. We started out looking at condos closer to downtown. They were all very nice, very modern...and I had trouble remembering which was which a day or two after we'd been in them, they were all so much alike: generic and bland. I could tell Jack wasn't enthralled by any of them either. Somehow they just weren't what I'd pictured for the home I would share with Jack. I was also floored by the prices. Housing costs in Texas were much lower than Chicago, of that I was sure.

One Saturday evening, after a day of viewings, Jack and I ended up at a lounge to have a quiet drink and recap the day, before heading home to his place. He was becoming frustrated, and he sat staring into his glass of scotch with a near-scowl – something I rarely saw on his handsome face.

"Tell me what you're thinking," I coaxed, my hand covering his.

"I didn't think this would be so damn difficult," he groused.

"What is it you don't like about the places we're seeing?" I asked, hoping talking it through would help his frustration.

"They just feel wrong," he replied after giving it a moment's thought. "I mean, downtown is nice, but...I always thought we'd have a yard...grass...some trees on the street?" He rubbed his forehead distractedly. "I don't know."

"Like...a house," I concluded.

"Yeah. I know how much you love living downtown and being close to everything, but there's no way we can afford a house or even a townhouse downtown. Anything within five miles of the north side of The Loop is way beyond our price range."

"We're looking at condos because of me?"

"You told me – what, a year ago? – that you love living downtown. It's close to everything."

"Well, yeah, but I was talking about being in school. My place is close to SAIC and my job...but when I finish in April, that stuff will all become irrelevant. No more SAIC, no more art supply store, I hope."

He put his drink down and peered at me. "So – wait. You're saying you'd be okay with living up in, say, Wrigleyville or somewhere in that area? Because up there, we could get one of those little detached houses, a bit of grass in the backyard, in an established neighborhood, parking in the back...something like what Mike has wouldn't be much more than we'd be paying for a two-bedroom condo downtown."

He paused and I imagined a small, early 20th Century one-and-a-half storey house. "That sounds like the kind of place I'd love. Space for a little studio, room for overnight guests and...maybe someday...a family?" I added this last part carefully, not sure how Jack would react. We'd never discussed it before.

His only reaction was to hold my gaze before a gentle smile slowly spread across his face. "So we'll look up that way, then? I'll tell Elizabeth that our parameters have changed."

I winced a little, thinking of our real estate agent. She was a formidable woman, and truth be told, I was a bit intimidated by her. Jack dealt with her in the same no-bullshit manner she used with him, and they got along well. When he called her and told her we had changed the parameters of our search, she told him she'd have a few new listings to us by email by the end of the day. Two weeks later, we found ourselves standing in the living room of the perfect house.

It was almost exactly what I'd pictured when Jack suggested a house in this neighborhood. A storey and a half, with three bedrooms and two and a half baths, an L-shaped living/dining room area and a bright spacious kitchen. A little addition off the back comprised the mud room and laundry room. There was a built-in shelving unit in that room, where each of the residents of the home had their own locker, so to speak, minus the door on the front, where they could hang their coats, purses, backpacks, etc. I was completely charmed by the four small chalkboards above the cubbies that identified the owners: "Mom, Dad, Lila, Ava." I filed that idea away for future reference.

Upstairs the master bedroom had a skylight above the bed, letting the sun flood the room with natural light. One of the smaller bedrooms was shared by the two little girls of the house; the other was an office. A wall from the upstairs hallway had been removed by a previous owner and replaced with a railing that opened up the hall to the living room below. The basement also had an office space with windows that looked out at ground level over the tiny front lawn. The back had an actual yard, with a concrete patio against the house and a small stretch of grass leading back to the garage that separated the yard from the access alleyway. Finally, the house was literally around the corner from a community pool.

All in all, it was probably rather unremarkable when placed alongside the other houses in the neighborhood, but we fell in love nonetheless. There was nothing to be done to it, another selling point since neither of us was looking to fix up a house. We put in an offer the same day, and the next day they accepted it without even signing back a counter-offer. It was ours, and our escrow would close the third week of April, just before I finished school.

That meant we had six weeks in which to pack up two apartments. That itself wasn't a huge task since we were both pretty organized already. However, I was also completing my finals assignments for school as well as looking for full-time employment, which meant I was completely swamped. Jack did much of the packing at my place, taking boxes uptown to his apartment each time he left, so there'd be as little as possible for us to do during those last few weeks. It helped that we each had another week in our apartments after we took possession of the house, so there was no huge rush. Jack had taken the week off following the escrow closing, and all I had to do was focus on my finals – he looked after the rest. While my classmates were stressing about packing up and doing finals at the same time, my Jack made my life as simple as possible.

The only area he didn't venture into was the packing of my art supplies and tools, but since that was almost my only job for the move, I had time to sort through things, get rid of old stuff I wouldn't or couldn't use, and reorganize my portfolio, which had gotten a bit out of order as I went on job interviews.

The second week of April, I received an offer for a job that would begin mid-May. I would be employed as a production artist at an advertising agency. It was entry-level, since I was completely new to this world, and would be a sort of apprenticeship to the art director. I found out shortly thereafter that one of my classmates at SAIC had also accepted a job in the same art department, and we would be working together. I was unsure, to be honest, if the world of advertising was for me, but I knew I had to give it a shot. I was grateful I'd be getting paid for something that let me flex my creativity, at least a bit.

With that final detail in place, I handed in my last assignment of my undergraduate life, and left SAIC, my Bachelor of Fine Arts degree all but in my hand. I felt a huge sense of accomplishment, and I was proud of myself for following my dream to go to SAIC, even when it didn't look like Jack would be in my life. I was glad I'd initially declined Jack's request to live together a year earlier. I wasn't ready then; I was now.

I knew my situation was unusual among my fellow graduates. I was leaving school to immediately move into a live-in relationship and home ownership. Some of my friends thought I was nuts to settle down so young. I really couldn't find it in me to care what they thought. I'd stood out as somewhat different all my life: if not for being one of the only kids at school with a single parent, then for being artistic; if not for being artistic, then for being gay. At this point I figured that if I was going to stand out as unique, it might as well be for something that made me uniquely happy. I wasn't the least bit interested in denying myself the happiness, warmth and secure love I'd found with Jack.

We spent a final night together in each of our respective apartments. We'd shared happy times in both and though we were glad to be moving into our house, we'd miss them, miss the neighborhoods we'd become part of.

Moving day also happened to be my birthday. Jack had spent every day for a week at the house, painting, organizing, unpacking the contents of his kitchen into our new one, and doing as much as he could before the big day. We hired a small local moving company to move the bigger stuff, and Jack and I schlepped the rest ourselves. He tried to get me to just let him do it, telling me he didn't want me to hurt my hands. I politely thanked him for his concern and then completely ignored it, as there was no reason I couldn't help. In less than four hours everything was out of his apartment. It took even less time to put it all into the house, since we didn't have two flights of stairs to deal with. When the movers had gone, we stood in the middle of our new living room and surveyed the house. There were boxes everywhere and we hadn't quite agreed on how to organize the living room furniture yet, but it was ours. Swiftly Jack caught me around the waist, lifting me and spinning me around. Laughing loudly I wrapped my legs around his middle and held on...for life.

-o-

Living with Jack in our house was pretty damn wonderful. It was great to come home to him every night after work. Our work hours were offset slightly from each other's, so we didn't commute together. I worked earlier and got home sooner, so I would go ahead and get dinner started when I arrived home. He would get home in time to help by making a salad or something, and then our evenings were our own. We planted a little flower bed in the front and vegetables in the back, and we both enjoyed puttering around outside. I got my studio set up in one of the bedrooms – I'd never had so much space dedicated solely to my art stuff. Jack was happy to just sit with me as I worked, relaxing in an arm chair I'd brought from Austin; he would read or work on his laptop. Sometimes hours would pass in relative silence, but it was comfortable. It was just _right_.

My graduation ceremony was in June and my mom and Laura both flew in for it, staying about five days. I was really grateful to have them there. They stayed with us, enjoying our back yard and getting to know each other better, soon becoming fast friends. I was also surprised to find out that Brad and Emma were flying in for the day of my graduation. Brad couldn't stay the full length of time Mom did, but he came to the ceremony and out for dinner with us afterward. Emma was going to go back home with him but I suggested to Mom that she stay and go back when Mom did, since she was out of school for the summer anyway. Emma was excited to stay in the city a few days longer, and when she found out it had been my suggestion, it cemented me as "cool older sort-of-step-brother".

It was really nice to have everyone there. Brad and Mom gave me a beautiful new leather portfolio for my artwork, and Mom cried and told me how she proud she was of me. It was a great day and a lovely visit with everyone.

It was just a month or so later in late July that we got Jasper and Edward's wonderful news. Their surrogate had conceived and they were due to have a baby in early March. Ashton and Kathleen were the next to break baby news, telling everyone at Christmas that they would also welcome an addition sometime around the second week of August. Kathleen had suffered a miscarriage shortly after my first Christmas with Jack. Though the pregnancy had been unplanned, it was not unwanted and the loss was heartbreaking for them. This time her pregnancy progressed well, as did Julie's, Edward and Jasper's surrogate.

The first week of March we got the call from Edward and Jasper letting us know they had a healthy baby daughter, Annie. They were ecstatic, and we were thrilled for them. We arranged for a personal chef to make them a week's worth of healthy, prepared meals that they could freeze and heat when they wanted. We figured that would be more useful to them than a silver rattle or some other trinket. We'd been planning to make a trip to Seattle the last week of April...and that brings us to now.

We arrived in Seattle late last night, flying out after we finished work. We called our friends to let them know we'd arrived, but had chosen to stay at a hotel for the first two nights. It was part of Jack's birthday gift to me.

Today we headed to Edward and Jasper's to meet little Annie. We were immediately enthralled with her. God, she looked like Edward with that reddish-brown hair – she was such a beauty. Ashton and Kathleen, though they saw the Cullen-Whitlocks on a regular basis, visited at the same time we did. Everyone held Annie at some point throughout the afternoon, Jack included – and that was completely heart-melting, watching as he softly talked to her, cooing her name – but I have to admit to bogarting her just a bit. She slept peacefully in my arms for over an hour, and I had trouble looking away from her; she was so tiny and perfect. She had the itty-bittiest fingernails I'd ever seen. Edward and Jasper were obviously exhausted, but completely happy. Something inside me ached a little for this – marriage, children.

-o-

Stirring from my reverie, I look over at Jack, fast asleep in the huge comfortable king bed of our hotel room. I'm only 24 and just starting my career, and intellectually I know I'm probably not quite ready to start a family, but it doesn't stop me from wanting it. Jack and I are committed for life and recently, even before his proposal tonight, I'd been thinking we should register a civil union with the state of Illinois, for the protection of our rights concerning each other and our property. I had pretty well decided I would suggest it to Jack.

Now, instead, I'm engaged to be married, and I can't remember ever being happier. I cross the room and slide into bed beside where Jack sleeps, looking peaceful and content and always so beautiful. Sometimes I can't believe he's really mine. I never dreamed, the first time I laid eyes on him three and a half years ago, that we'd be here...but here we are. He's my Jack, my love, forever.

I wake the next morning feeling excited and a little anxious, and it takes me a moment to remember why. When I do, I'm flooded with love and anticipation. I wake Jack up with a blow job and we linger in bed, fooling around, teasing and enjoying each other, and talking a little bit about the wedding. I really don't want to get out of bed, but since we're staying at Ashton and Kathleen's for the rest of our visit, we have to be checked out of the hotel by eleven.

After checking out, we head over to Chez Byrne, letting ourselves in with the key they gave us yesterday, since they're both at work. We put our stuff in the guest bedroom and wander out to their back deck to sit for a while. It's not mild enough that we can sit out without our coats on, but at least it isn't raining. We each pull out our cell phones and call our moms, knowing they have to be the first to hear our good news.

Jack's conversation with Laura goes pretty well exactly as expected: she's thrilled and excited, and says how much she's looking forward to sharing the special day with us. My conversation with my mom throws me a bit of a curve ball, as she has an announcement of her own to make – Brad has proposed to her, too! I'm absolutely speechless when she tells me; it takes me a moment to absorb it. It's amazing that we've both found the right person, especially with Mom being single for so long, and become engaged within two days of each other! I never dreamed something like this would happen, that I'd be planning my wedding at the same time my mother was planning hers. I couldn't be more thrilled for her. Brad is a truly good guy, and he and Mom have so much love and respect for each other.

This also means I'll have a step-dad and step-sister in my family now. Emma is a sweetie – a little dramatic at times, but she _is_ a teenager, after all. I've never had a sibling, despite my repeated requests for a baby brother around the time I was five or six, but I'm hoping to be able to build a real relationship with Emma despite the geographical distance.

Of course, I'm also getting two adult brothers and another mom, in the form of my in-laws. It's sort of amazing, really, when I think about it: I'm going from a little family of two – I don't even have cousins, since my mom is an only child – to a large extended family, something I've always wanted. I feel completely blessed.

After each of us has talked to our moms, we swap phones to talk to our moms-to-be, laughing and speculating on details. I hear Jack give my mom his congratulations and sincere good wishes, and when we've hung up from our respective calls he is just as surprised as I am.

"I didn't tell her I was going to ask you," he comments. "I didn't tell anyone. This happened completely coincidentally. That's incredible!"

"I know, right? I couldn't have imagined this."

"It's great," he grins. "They're really good for each other. I think they're going to be happy."

We spend the rest of the afternoon chatting about wedding stuff – mostly tossing around ideas for a date, where we should do it – Chicago? Austin? California? – and get as far as deciding to do it in our adopted hometown. Chicago is really where our relationship has been set. It's where our lives are. As for when we do it, that will depend somewhat on the venue we decide on and its availability. We decide to aim for sometime in March or thereabouts.

When Kathleen and Ashton get home from work we share our news with them. They are absolutely delighted, and even more so when Jack asks Ashton to be his best man. Ashton accepts, of course, glad to return the favor from when Jack stood up with him. Kathleen, pregnancy hormones raging, cries copiously at the whole thing, and then when Edward and Jasper come for dinner with Annie, the entire scene happens all over again. It's a lot of fun, sharing this news with our loved ones, and the joy on our friends' faces warms me through and through.

-o-

_Jack_

The rest of our visit in Seattle flies past and before we know it, we're back in Chicago and sharing our news with all our friends there. I'm so happy to have Jacey as my partner for the rest of our lives. I've been thinking seriously about making it official since the first time he mentioned the possibility of a family, when we were looking for a house. I had thought of it in abstract terms before – "_Someday I'm going to marry this man" _– but when he talked about children, it was one more encouragement, one more thing that told me we were on the right path. Still, I thought it would be good to get settled into the house, let Jacey focus on his career a bit before we started planning a wedding. It came up in conversation a few more times. It was obvious his plans and hopes hadn't changed, and that strengthened my decision. Seeing him hold that baby yesterday, the way he was so taken with her, cradling her in his arms with gentle strength...it sounds corny to say, but I fell in love with him even more as I watched him. I knew I was ready to ask him for the next step.

I really did intend to ask him at the top of the Space Needle. I went so far as to tell him I wanted to take him there while we were in the city – but my spontaneous proposal happened instead. Fortunately he seemed to love it, and most importantly, he said yes. I can't remember ever being happier than the moment he accepted.

Jacey asks his good friend and former housemate, Neil, to be his best man. They've stayed in touch; he and his girlfriend Sam visited us in Chicago once and we've had dinner with them when we've visited Austin. Jacey also asks his future step-sister, Emma, to be a bridesmaid, and Leah later tells us that Emma didn't sleep all that night after we asked her, she was so excited to be included. On my side, in addition to Ashton, I ask Mike to stand with me.

Our guest list is only about fifty people – we're keeping it small. I would have been very happy to elope. In fact, I suggested that very thing to Jacey that first morning we woke up in Seattle after I proposed. Almost immediately he shook his head decisively. "No," he said. "I can't do that to my mom, Jack. I'm her only child. If I got married and didn't include her, it'd break her heart. She's been too important to me. For so many years it was just the two of us – she was everything to me. I want her there. I know your mom would feel the same way. Plus...you know, if we didn't have supportive families, I'd say sure, let's just run off and do it by ourselves. But we're lucky, Jackie. We have families who will be there and they'll be so happy for us. Too many people don't have that – we can't squander it." He spoke gently and lovingly, and yet there was a reproach to his words, one I thoroughly deserved. Of course he was right, and not for the first time was I reminded that every day, Jacey made me a better person.

So now that we've decided to get married in Chicago, Jacey starts researching possible venues for the wedding. He visits several Chicago wedding websites, reading recommendations for various places. Since we're hoping for some time in March, that eliminates outdoor venues. We can do something quite casual, or we can go with a more modern, downtown feel. Jacey narrows down the list to about five places that meet the size requirements and are a bit unique – we definitely aren't interested in the traditional "married in a church, reception in a hotel ballroom" thing. We make appointments for viewings and unfortunately have to strike the first two off the list immediately. One, AIC, would be great, and on paper, with Jacey being an alumnus, it would be meaningful to him. The day before we go, though, their last availability for the entire year of 2015 disappears. The second, a Latin-themed restaurant and lounge that rents out entire rooms for private parties, is really, really overwhelming. There are a thousand splashes of color everywhere and just being there for the showing gives me a headache. Jacey, while not affected in the same way, agrees that it doesn't quite have the right feel.

The third place is a West Loop loft that has bare white walls and hardwood floors, high ceilings with exposed steel beams and tall windows. Jacey's eyes go wide at the possibilities of this space. With almost no existing décor with which our theme would have to blend, it's practically a blank canvas. It could be whatever we wished to make it – an ultra-modern martini lounge, an intimate bistro, a dramatic gallery...anything we could conceive of.

The manager who shows us through the space lets us look through a book of photos from previous events – weddings, fundraisers and other parties – to give us an idea of what others have done. I can see the wheels turning in Jacey's head as he looks through the book. I'm sure he already has a few ideas in mind – and yes, I'm giving him free rein where the décor is concerned. He's the artist in the family, after all, and what's more, his taste is flawless.

We ask the manager about availabilities for 2015. After checking the schedule, he tells us he has March 14, May 9, and late August.

"March 14," I repeat, looking meaningfully at Jacey. He returns my gaze but is unsure for a moment, until the significance dawns on him.

"March 14." He says it with a gentle smile, realizing it's my father's birthday...the day I dropped the glass in the kitchen when Jacey was staying with me...the day he sang to me...the day I fell in love with him.

I nod. "March 14." The manager must, by now, be wondering why we keep repeating the date, but to his credit he says nothing, not interrupting our moment.

"So...that's sort of perfect," Jacey muses.

"It really is."

"I don't want to see the other places now," he adds.

"Neither do I."

We finally return our attention to the manager who is holding his iPad in his arm, his finger poised over the schedule. He gives us an expectant smile. "So, am I creating a new booking for March 14, 2015?"

Jacey squeezes my hand, hard, and unison we answer, "Yes."

The date now decided, we immediately set to work letting our loved ones know our plans so they can save the date and arrange for time off and travel plans. Of course, there's no question who we ask to be our photographer, and Leah has already said she'll come in several days prior to the wedding to do whatever floral and décor arrangements need to be done.

As for Leah's own wedding to Brad, they've decided to get married two days after Christmas. This works out really well for everyone, because Leah was to host Christmas this year anyway. Jacey and I already have vacation time booked to be there that week. My mom and Sean are going to join us as well. Aaron is working in Australia now and isn't planning to come home for Christmas, having chosen to save his vacation time and money to come for our wedding. It's really thoughtful of Leah that, knowing we'd be travelling for the wedding, they've planned it for a time when we're already there. They're having a very small wedding, a church service followed by a small reception at the church hall, then a catered dinner at her house. The shorter time-frame for planning doesn't phase her at all – she's a pretty laid-back person anyway and is very casual about the whole thing.

In mid-August Kathleen and Ashton's baby is due. We get a text one night from Ashton telling us she has gone into labor and he's taking her to the hospital. As it turns out, there are some complications during delivery – which, when described by Ashton after the fact, scare the hell out of Jacey and me – and Kath ends up delivering by Caesarean. They have a healthy baby boy, whom they name Henry David Byrne, for each of their fathers. We have photos arriving by text on our cell phones within an hour after the baby makes his debut, courtesy of very proud daddy Ashton. When I talk to him later that evening, he is still at the hospital. Kathleen has finally dozed off, he tells me, after having been awake all day following the delivery. He speaks very quietly so as not to wake her.

"Everyone's finally gone home now," he tells me. "I'm in the recliner by her bed and I've got Henry with me. The nurse bundled him up in one of those fuzzy little baby blankets – he's wrapped up so tight and so compact, it feels like holding a football."

"Doesn't it hurt him?" I ask doubtfully.

"Nah. She said it makes him feel secure, because he's been in such close quarters till now. I'm holding him with his ear up against my chest so he can hear my heartbeat. I figured since he's been listening to Kathleen's ever since his hearing developed—oh, did you hear that?" he asks me.

"I heard it," I reply, grinning though he can't see me. "Was that him?"

"Yeah. He seems to grunt a lot."

"Sort of like you before you have your morning coffee," I tease.

"He's definitely a Byrne. He's...he's just perfect, Jack..." Ashton's voice cracks and I can tell he's teary. Between not sleeping last night and the scare earlier today, I understand why he's worn thin.

"I'm so happy for you, Ash," I murmur. "You and Kathleen are meant for each other. I'm sorry if I've never told you that before. I've known it since your second date."

He sniffles. "Really?"

"Absolutely. And now you have a family, and you're going to be a great dad. I mean, you've got his head where he can hear your heartbeat to help him feel secure. I wouldn't even have thought of that. You're way ahead of the game. I'm proud of you."

"Jesus, Jack. You're going to make me cry again. But...thanks."

"You're welcome. And no more tears – that's Henry's job now."

He chuckles. "Yeah."

"Well, I really should go and let you get some sleep before he wakes up, huh?"

"Yeah, I should try, anyway."

"Okay. Well, we'll call you in a few days to check in. Don't hesitate to call us, though, if there's anything you need, okay?"

"You bet. Thanks, bro. Love you."

His words take me slightly aback, because they haven't been part of our shared vocabulary in the past; but I quickly return them. "Love you too. Give Kath a kiss for us, and give Henry a big hug from Uncle Jack and Uncle Jacey."

"I will. Night, Jack."

And with that final goodbye, we hang up. I'm left feeling as though this is all a little surreal. I've known Ashton since we were nineteen – that's twelve years. Now he's a husband and a father, and I'm engaged and living a life of more happiness than I knew existed. As happy as we are, I can't help wondering just where those two nineteen-year-old, transplanted California boys went.

-o-

Life flies past when you're busy living it, and before we know it the summer has turned to fall, and fall quickly leads to winter weather. By the time December arrives, our wedding plans are in full swing and we're gearing up for Christmas, and Leah and Brad's wedding.

Something has been bothering Jacey for a few weeks, though, and I don't know what it is. Several times I catch him lost in contemplation and even though he brushes it off, I can tell that whatever he's thinking about is worrying him. Finally it starts to worry me too, and I have to sort of get tough, insisting that he tell me what's wrong. The only time I've ever seen him act this way preceded that awful time I don't like to think about anymore. Despite knowing with certainty that that's not the case this time, I can't help worrying that maybe he's having second thoughts. Presenting it to him that way makes him immediately snap out of it.

"Oh my god, Jack, no! Oh, jesus – I'm so sorry for worrying you. No second thoughts, not even close. I've been upset because...this is going to sound dumb..."

"Nothing that bothers you this much is dumb," I reassure him.

"Okay." He takes a deep breath. "I'm worried because...I want to change my name."

"Change your name?" I repeat blankly.

"Yeah. You know – when we get married?"

My mouth drops open, as much in delight as in surprise. "You do?"

"Yes."

"What, like hyphenated?"

"Oh god, no. I hate hyphenated names – no disrespect to your friends. I was thinking I'd like to be Jacey Charles. That is, if you'll have me."

I'm aghast. "Really? I mean – really?"

He laughs. "Is that a yes?"

"Of course it's a yes! I'd love that. We'll have the same initials!"

He laughs again. "Yeah, we will."

"So...why are you upset about that? Did you think I'd say no?"

"No," he sighs, the glum look returning almost instantly. "I'm worried about telling my mom."

I'm having trouble keeping up with the emotional swings this conversation is taking us on: worry, guilt, confusion, joy, humor and now back to sadness and – on my part – confusion. "Why?"

"Because I've had _her_ name all my life. We've been The Dawes – the only two – since my granddad died and I'm afraid she'll be upset that I want to carry a different name now. Maybe it's silly to worry..."

"As I told you already, nothing that causes you this much distress is silly. You know your mom better than I do, of course, but perhaps you've made this bigger in your mind than she would. The question is this: let's say she _is _a little hurt. Will that change your decision?"

"No," he replied immediately.

"So then, you need to tell her. Ideally, I think you should do it before we go there for the wedding, so she'll have time to get over it, or at least get used to it, before we see her."

He sighs. "You're right." He looks at his watch – it's about three p.m. on a Sunday. "No time like the present, I guess."

He places the call and I sit beside him on the couch, holding his hand. They chat about other things at first, but I can hear him gradually working up to it. Finally he tells Leah he has something wedding-related to discuss with her. I give his hand a squeeze, encouraging him. He's very kind in his delivery but doesn't hesitate either. "I want to change my name, Mom."

His cell phone is loud enough that Leah's reply is crystal clear even to me. "Oh, honey – I want to change my name, too!" she exclaims. "And I've been putting off telling you because I thought you'd be upset, that you'd think I was abandoning the Dawes name or something."

"Oh my god!" Jacey's relief is palpable. "I thought the same thing about telling you."

Leah's laughter rings out. "We're quite a pair," she says when she stops laughing, adding, "But you're the one who manned up to do it."

"Jack suggested I should tell you before I got there for Christmas and the wedding. "

"Thank him for me. Sounds like he took a load off both our minds."

Jacey turns his megawatt smile my way. If I have my sweet boy back, well, that's all the thanks I need.

-o-

Leah and Brad's wedding is beautiful – small and intimate, and really personal. Leah looks radiant in a soft ice blue dress that falls to just below the knee. Her best man, Jacey, also has the pleasure of walking her down the aisle. He's absolutely gorgeous in a grey suit that fits him like a glove. Brad has Emma as his maid of honor. She's a little nervous but proud as anything as she and Brad precede Jacey and Leah down the aisle.

The ceremony is emotional for everyone. Leah chokes up as she recites her vows, and I can see Jacey struggling to keep his composure too. During the ceremony the minister mentions Jacey and Emma, and even me as the next person who'll be joining their family in a few months. I'm struck by the realization that the next wedding I attend will be my own, and as such I'm compelled to pay particular attention as the minister talks about the importance of things like communication, support for each other's dreams and aspirations, respect and love.

The church is reasonably full, with Brad and Leah both knowing so many residents of Kingsland. After the ceremony there's a little reception in the church hall, where those in attendance can give their congratulations to the newlyweds, have some cake and socialize; then a small group us, family and closest friends, go back to Leah's house where a catered dinner is served. Dinner is lovely, with lots of laughter and love shared by everyone. When it's over, there's no dance, no throwing of a bouquet or garter. The couple change into more casual outfits and kiss everyone goodbye before taking off for a mini honeymoon. They're going to go on a longer trip as a family this summer; for now, Jacey and I are staying with Emma while Leah and Brad go down to Corpus Christi for a few days.

When the remains of dinner have been cleared away by the catering staff; when the borrowed tables and chairs have been stacked on the back deck to be picked up; when my mom and Sean have kissed us goodbye and headed back to Austin for tomorrow's early morning flight; and when the last guest, Leah's best friend Melissa, has left, the house suddenly seems very empty.

Emma, standing at the front door looking out, starts to cry silently.

Jacey looks at me, his eyes wide, before crossing the front hall to gingerly place his hands on Emma's shoulders. "Hey," he says gently. "You okay?"

She shakes her head, not looking at him. Jacey gives me a look of mild panic, then continues, "They'll be back on Wednesday. That's only a few days."

She cries a little harder, and this time I pipe up, trying to help. "We've got lots of fun stuff we're thinking of doing while they're gone."

"Yeah, like, maybe go to Austin shopping?" Jacey suggests.

"You've got a new room here to decorate," I add. "Maybe we can go pick out the paint and some new decorations for the walls, and get it all finished before they get back. We can move some stuff into it from your old house. And, you know, the time will fly by and Brad'll be back before you know it."

She finally turns around, her lower lip jutting out determinedly. "I'm not crying because my dad's gone," she says witheringly, giving the impression that she is just barely restraining herself from adding, _you stupid boys._

"Okay..." Jacey and I exchange a look of confusion.

"I'm crying because it's over."

"The wedding?"

She nods. "I've been looking forward to it _forever_, and now it's all done."

"Oh." Dealing with a teenage girl is entirely new territory for me, having grown up in a house of boys. I don't really know what might make her feel better.

Fortunately Jacey has better instincts than I do. He gives his new little sister a hug, which she returns, if a bit awkwardly. "Well," he says, "Ours is only about eleven weeks away. And you get to come to Chicago for that."

Emma tries her best to smile, having greater success when I add, "And you're going to be a bridesmaid."

"Yeah," she agrees. "Except there's no bride."

"Uh..." Jacey and I look at each other, thrown. "How many times have we said the word bridesmaid without even thinking about that?" he wonders aloud.

"Seriously?" Emma replies, and there's that look again, the one that says, _Really stupid boys._

"Well, okay, fine – maybe we haven't given thought to the terminology yet," I retort, good-naturedly adding, "Smarty-pants," under my breath. "Groomsmaid, then – but the point is, you're in our wedding."

"The only girl, by the way, which means you don't have to be matchy-matchy with anyone else's dress. You can choose whatever you like as long as it's the right color." Jacey has hit her in the right spot. She smiles thoughtfully and I can see the wheels turning in her head as she considers her fashion options.

"Okay. Now that we've figured that out, I'm feeling a little wedding'd out for today. What do you say we change into something comfortable and crash on the couch with a movie?" I suggest.

Emma, her mood having improved considerably, heads off to change and we do the same. In Jacey's old room we quietly congratulate each other on having navigated, with some measure of success, a perilous teenage girl-y moment.

The rest of our visit there is really great. We do take Emma to Austin and get the stuff needed to decorate her room. We spend a day painting the walls and trim. We also go to Brad's house, which he'll be moving out of at the end of this week, and bring Emma's bed and the stuff from her old room over to Leah's. When Leah and Brad return from their honeymoon, they're really surprised – in a good way – at everything we've accomplished. We leave feeling like we've gotten to know Emma a lot better and developed a good rapport with her.

The winter months are filled with wedding plans – addressing and sending our invitations, making final selections on things like flowers, décor and the menu, and meeting with our officiant to plan the ceremony.

Geoffrey, the man we've chosen to marry us, was originally ordained as a Catholic priest, but had to leave his official capacity in the church when he came out. Now he performs weddings for various non-denominational couples, gay and straight, as well as entirely secular weddings. When we first met him last fall we took to him immediately.

_He had a very relaxed style and a good sense of humor, but at the same time we got the feeling that he could be serious when the moment called for it. The final mark in his favor came when Jacey found out he was from San Angelo, Texas. "San Angelo? That's three hours from home!" Jacey's face lit up as they compared notes on their respective Texas upbringings, particularly what it was like to be gay in small-town Texas. Geoffrey's experience was different in that he remained closeted until he was over thirty; but there was always the fear, for him, of someone guessing the truth._

At our final meeting with him before the wedding, we review our requests and expectations for the ceremony, and he makes a few suggestions based on weddings he's performed in the past. We both feel really good about him, and it's one more step toward finalizing our plans.

We also have to decide what kind of rings we'd like, and the options, frankly, are dizzying. Different types of metals, stones or no stones, traditional, modern, matching or not... I know what my preference is – a nice, wide plain platinum band would make me very happy – but I know Jacey's artistic sensibilities might prefer something a bit more ornate. Since I really do want matching rings, I tell Jacey that if he wants to design or choose the design for our rings, I'll go with whatever he chooses. He has great taste, so I'm sure I'll love it regardless.

It's only a few evenings later that he comes to sit beside me on the couch as I'm reading a prospectus for a new stock offering. He's carrying his laptop and tells me he's found a ring he loves. Curious, I immediately set aside the prospectus and encourage him to show me.

"Okay," he says, opening up his laptop and pointing to the screen. "This is it."

To my surprise and utter delight, he has chosen a plain 6mm platinum band. Before I can comment he says, "I know it's really traditional. But I was thinking about all the times I've gotten paint all over my hands when I'm working. I really don't want to get paint in the crevices of an intricate design, but I don't want to have to take it off when I'm working. Actually, I don't want to take it off at all. And this...it's very masculine, and it just has a nice simple beauty. What do you think?"

I take the laptop from his hands and set it on the coffee table, and launch myself at him, pushing him down on his back on the couch and attacking his mouth. He immediately reciprocates and passion flares between us. Lying atop him I grind my hips into his, feeling his hardening length against me. He moans, pulling me closer before sliding his hands inside my jeans to clutch at my ass. Soon we're shedding our clothes, desperate for the pleasure of losing ourselves in each other. I'm always grateful we don't have to worry about condoms anymore, haven't for some time; and as for lube, we've learned to keep bottles of it in most rooms in the house. Tonight it's just a matter of tipping over the black glass vase on the end table and letting the small tube fall into my hand.

Instead of pulling Jacey's legs up to my shoulders as I usually do, it's his cock that receives a generous coating of lube, applied slowly, sensually. It's my ass that opens up to allow two slick fingers to penetrate and prepare me. It's my body that slowly consumes Jacey's iron length, inch by satin inch, until my ass rests against his groin and beads of sweet are rolling down my back and my chest from the effort.

Beneath me, Jacey too is struggling, fighting not to thrust up into me before I'm ready. He talks through the strain, telling me how tight I am, how sexy and how much he loves it when I do this for him.

"Uhhhh...fuck me, Jacey," I groan after I've adjusted as much as I ever will. He grabs my hips and slowly begins to flex upward, pressing as deep as he can, touching places inside me that almost hurt; then withdrawing most of the way and pushing up again. As always I have to stay focused on keeping my body relaxed, moving with him and feeling that unbelievable pressure, the ache that will stay with me for several days after Jacey – panting, sweating, swearing – empties his load deep inside my ass.

Afterward, when we're snuggled together under a throw blanket, our hands tracing slow paths over each other's arms and shoulders, soft languorous kisses echoing after the ecstasy, Jacey murmurs, "So, the ring – can I assume you like it?"

"I love it. It's exactly what I would have chosen for myself," I whisper.

"I'm so glad it suits you," he beams.

"_You_ suit me, sweet boy, like you were made for me."

Jacey burrows deeper into my embrace and buries his face in my chest. He mumbles against my skin, "I _was_ made for you. Love you so much."

-o-

Before we know it, there are only a few days until the wedding and our loved ones are arriving in Chicago. Leah and Emma arrive on the Tuesday before and they stay with us. Leah has arranged with a floral supplier to have the flowers delivered here to our house, so she can create the corsages, lapel flowers and Emma's bouquet, and clip the many orchid stems needed for the tabletop décor. She's even rented a special refrigerator which takes up temporary residence in our basement, to keep the flowers fresh. Emma's job is assembling our wedding favors. Jacey and I are finished work as of the end of the day Wednesday, and we have lots of last-minute stuff to keep us busy.

My mom, Aaron and Sean fly in from California on Thursday, Aaron having come home from Australia last weekend. The three of them have rented a small vacation house for a few days, not far from our house. Edward and Jasper have done the same, renting a condo with Ashton and Kathleen as well as Ashton's parents, David and Kay. Their whole group, including the babies, arrives on Friday, as does Brad.

Everyone from out of town is invited to the rehearsal dinner Friday night, since almost the wedding party consists of out-of-towners anyway, with the exception of Mike. It's a rehearsal dinner in name only, since there really isn't much to rehearse, so our guests just come to our house for a buffet. It's very relaxed, despite the sheer numbers of people in our little home. It's a lot of fun to have the babies there. Annie is worlds different from last time we saw her, ten months ago. She has just turned one and has a head full of short red curls. She spends much of her time chewing furiously on her thumb – Edward says she has a molar trying to break through.

And then there's Henry, and this is the first time we've met Ashton and Kathleen's little guy, who's seven months old. During the evening, Jacey suggests Kathleen give him Henry so she can get some food, and it's just like that day so long ago in Daley Plaza, when the baby next to us couldn't stop staring at Jacey – Henry is utterly taken with him. Eventually the little guy just lies back in Jacey's arms and dozes off. Jacey asks Ashton to hand him a blanket, then he covers Henry up and continues to hold him as he sleeps. Occasionally he reaches down and smooths a little wisp of fine baby hair or touches the sleeping baby's cheek, looking completely natural and at ease with the baby in his arms as he continues his conversations. It is literally the best thing I've ever seen in my life.

Tomorrow is going to be a long day, though, and it's getting late. A few at a time, our friends and family drift off to their respective homes and hotels. I'll be staying tonight with my mom and brothers at their rental house; Jacey and his family will remain here.

He walks me out to the car as I get ready to leave. I can see he's desperate for a few moments alone before we separate until the ceremony. Shivering in his thin t-shirt in the damp cold night, he slides his arms inside my coat and wraps them around me.

"All this planning," he says. "All the time and effort...and all I want is for it to be over already, so I can have you to myself and just be your husband."

"This time tomorrow you will be, sweet boy. And then...two weeks all to ourselves, just you and me." We're going to Belize for the first week, staying at a resort outside San Pedro where we'll be near the ocean. When we return we also have a second week to spend at home. "I love you so much, Jacey."

He sighs and gives me one last squeeze before releasing me. "I love you too."

-o-

Saturday morning is quiet and relaxed as the four of us – me, my mom and brothers – have breakfast and spend the morning together. It's Dad's birthday, of course, and we reminisce about him, sharing memories. It's been nearly five years since we lost him, and for the most part, memories of him now are warm and loving, tinged with regret, rather than the raw pain of loss and grief the memories used to bring. On a day like today, though, I miss him so much I almost can't breathe. How I wish he could be here today; how I wish he and Jacey, the two most influential men of my life, could have known each other. I like to believe they'd have been great friends.

I had thought when we first got engaged that I'd ask my brothers to be ushers, but due to the way we've planned the ceremony, there is no need for ushers. It's still important to me to include them, though, so we've asked Aaron to be the master of ceremonies at the reception – he accepted immediately – and Sean to do a reading during the ceremony. As shy as he is, he needing a bit of convincing, but when I told him how much it would mean to us, he agreed. We also suggested he might want to choose the reading himself and he took the job very seriously. Mom has vetted the piece for us and assures us it's beautiful; Jacey and I won't hear it until the ceremony. I haven't been especially close to my brothers since moving away from home, but I'm very glad I'll have both of them there with me when I get married.

Just before eleven, Ashton, Edward, Mike and Nicolas come over, and we start getting into our wedding clothes, Edward taking candid pictures as we do. Once we're ready we head over to the Peoples Gas Education Pavilion for our formal pictures. The pavilion is a fairly new installation at Lincoln Park, and its design makes it a unique place for pictures. It's about fifty-five degrees out, chilly but not frigid, and the sun is shining. After numerous of pictures and various combinations of me, my family and my wedding party, Edward leaves to meet Jacey and his family and wedding party at Milton Olive Park for their pictures. When they're finished there, they will meet us at the Chicago Riverwalk, where Jacey and I will see each other for the first time before Edward takes pictures of us and our wedding party.

After dropping my mom at the condo where David and Kay are staying, we head down to the Riverwalk and wait for the other half of our wedding party to arrive. For the first time today I start to feel nervous, anxious to see Jacey. While Ashton and Mike joke around with Aaron and Sean, I pace the sidewalk with my hands in my pockets, repeatedly glancing up at the stairs where Jacey will appear. It's when I see Edward at the top of the stairs, camera in hand, grinning down at me, that I realize Jacey is up there, waiting just out of sight. I stop pacing, take a deep breath and watch for my sweet boy.

I'm vaguely aware of Edward's camera clicking, but everything else in the world disappears the moment Jacey steps into view. I've always known how beautiful he is, but when he's dressed up in a formal suit as he is today, he's resplendent. His eyes meet mine, his face lighting up in a brilliant smile, and it takes my breath away. I hold out my hand to him and in a flash he's down the steps and into my arms.

"Hi, gorgeous," I whisper into his ear, and he squeezes me tight. I feel so much joy swelling inside me l think I could burst.

"Hey, Jackie."

"Fancy meeting you here." Keeping hold of his hand, I step back to look at him. He's wearing a black suit and white shirt, and a black tie striped with deep plum and lavender; and god, he looks like he should be modeling that thing on a runway in Paris – so unbelievably beautiful. His hair, which he's never again let grow to the length it was when we were first together, is falling softly behind his ears. And his mouth – those impossibly plush lips which were almost the first thing I noticed about him – they're pink and slightly moist, and how I would love to just devour them.

Instead, after taking it all in, I let out a low whistle. "You look miraculous."

"So do you." His face is flushed with pleasure and he looks me up and down too. I too am wearing a black suit and white tie, and a solid plum silk tie.

"Hey, want to get married today?" I suggest, and he throws back his head and laughs, the sound echoing off the walls that terrace down toward the river. Still holding his hand, I lead him to join the rest of our wedding party at the railing beside the river. The men in our party have black suits and ties so deeply purple, they're almost black too. Emma looks beautiful and very grown up in her silk dress that matches the lavender in Jacey's tie, and a silver faux fur stole around her shoulders to keep her warm.

"What a good-looking group," Edward comments, by way of getting us focused on the task at hand. Nicolas is helping Edward today, keeping track of the time and carrying some of Edward's equipment for him. The two of them are dressed more casually for now, until we get to the loft for the wedding.

Edward has mentioned several times already how much he loves shooting in Chicago – he lived here for a couple of years after he finished school, of course, and has has done work in Chicago since then. He compliments us on our choice of locations as he snaps one photo after another. Some of them seem candid – he asks us to just talk to each other for a while and pay him no mind as we do – and others are posed. He evokes natural smiles with his banter, which is a bit of a surprise as Edward isn't known for being a chatterbox. This is the first time I've actually seen him work, though, and he really is in his element here.

Finally the photos are finished and it's nearing 3 p.m. – time for us to get going to the loft. Breaking with tradition, we aren't going to walk down the aisle; rather, we're going to be there to greet our guests as they arrive and mingle with them before the ceremony. I feel much better about this than I would at the thought of not seeing Jacey all day, building up all kinds of nerves and anticipation, and then seeing him, with everyone's eyes on me, right at the moment when the ceremony was to start. Doing it this way instead was my suggestion, and Jacey welcomed it. Now that I've seen him, I feel great. _Bring it on._

At the studio, my mom, Leah and Brad, and David and Kay have already arrived. Leah is very emotional today, even more so than when she married Brad. She carries a lace-trimmed handkerchief that she uses to dab at her eyes. As more guests arrive, the room becomes louder, voices ringing out in greeting or bursting out in laughter, occasionally drowning out the music that plays in the background. A few of my coworkers are invited and a few of Jacey's, too – just the ones we're closest to, the ones we see socially as well as at work. Two neighbor couples we've gotten to know join us, and two of Jacey's old SAIC friends with their dates. Mike's parents are here, as are Nicolas' parents, his brother and sister-in-law and their two children. Kathleen and Jasper arrive together, with the babies, the innocent faces and tiny voices of the little ones adding another layer of meaning to this gathering.

The studio looks absolutely amazing, thanks to Jacey's vision and artistic sense, Leah's help with the centerpieces and the work of the event planner's crew who brought it all to fruition. Jacey's idea was to leave one end of the space open for dancing, and to transform the rest to look like the dining and VIP areas of an exclusive lounge. White couches are arranged into U-shapes along the wall, the glass and chrome coffee tables in front of them bearing groupings of candleholders and low clear glass vases, both square and round. The candleholders are small, some shiny silver with burnouts to let the candlelight through, some looking more like crystal chandeliers. The vases hold submerged flowers, mostly white orchids but a few calla lilies of the deepest plum, and white floating candles. Stems laden with white orchids also lie nestled among the groupings. The tables that surround the dining area are much the same but on a taller scale, and the dining tables themselves mimic the color and texture of the theme.

When four p.m. arrives, Geoffrey takes his place in the middle of the open space that will later be the dance floor, and beckons Jacey and me. We kiss our moms and come to stand together in front of Geoffrey, facing each other, his hands in mine. Neil and Emma stand to one side of Jacey; Ashton and Mike take their place beside me. Geoffrey asks everyone to gather around, and they move in, surrounding us in a loose circle.

With that gentle, stress-free opening, the ambient music fades and our wedding ceremony begins. Geoffrey welcomes everyone and starts by talking a little about our history: mine, Jacey's, and the story of us. As we felt certain he would, he does a great job of summing us up in a couple of paragraphs. He talks about our families and he particularly mentions my dad. It's impossible not to tear up when he talks about him and how much we miss him, every day but especially on a day like this. I look at my mom and brothers; they, too, are wiping away a few tears.

Geoffrey then starts to talk about the things that go into making a marriage work – love and respect, commitment, loyalty and communication, all vital for a partnership to thrive. He includes a reading, one which was his suggestion and Jacey and I loved it. It's from Union by Robert Fulghum:

_You have known each other from the first glance of acquaintance to this point of commitment. At some point, you decided to marry. From that moment of yes to this moment of yes, indeed, you have been making promises and agreements in an informal way. All those conversations that were held riding in a car or over a meal or during long walks - all those sentences that began with "When we're married" and continued with "I will and you will and we will" - those late night talks that included "someday" and "somehow" and "maybe" - and all those promises that are unspoken matters of the heart. All these common things, and more, are the real process of a wedding. The symbolic vows that you are about to make are a way of saying to one another, "You know all those things we've promised and hoped and dreamed - well, I meant it all, every word." Look at one another and remember this moment in time. Before this moment you have been many things to one another - acquaintance, friend, companion, lover, dancing partner, and even teacher, for you have learned much from one another in these last few years. Now you shall say a few words that take you across a threshold of life, and things will never quite be the same between you. For after these vows, you shall say to the world, this - is my husband._

We repeat fairly traditional vows, with some minor adjustments. As Geoffrey speaks I can't take my eyes off Jacey. I think ahead to years – decades – with him as my husband, my lover, my best friend, and some day, a father to our children. This is the best thing I've ever done. When Geoffrey asks if I'll take Jacey to be my wedded husband and lawful civil partner, I want to shout my answer, but instead it comes out in a voice strangled by emotion. "Yes, forever."

Jacey's eyes spill over as Geoffrey repeats the same question to him. "Absolutely," he replies, and I release one of his hands to brush his tears away. Next we exchange rings. We've had each other's engraved on the inside, but until now the text has been a secret. Jacey shows mine to me before he puts it on my finger – it says _Oh you delicate heart, _which is the song he sang to me on that morning, four years ago today. I show him his, and what else could I choose but the name I've had for him since almost the beginning: _Sweet Boy. _He smiles broadly and nods. The bright white platinum bands gleam as we place them on each other's hands.

It's time for Sean's reading, and he steps forward from the group surrounding us. "I am honored to have been asked by you to select a reading for the most important day of your lives," he begins. "Jacey, I know how much you love South American art." Jacey nods with a smile. "I wanted to find something to reflect that love, and I chose a piece by the Chilean poet Pablo Neruda. It's called _Your Hands_."

_When your hands go out,_  
_love, toward mine,_  
_what do they bring me flying?_  
_Why did they stop_  
_at my mouth, suddenly,_  
_why do I recognize them_  
_as if then, before,_  
_I had touched them,_  
_as if before they existed_  
_they had passed over_  
_my forehead, my waist?_

_Their softness came_  
_flying over time,_  
_over the sea, over the smoke,_  
_over the spring,_  
_and when you placed_  
_your hands on my chest,_  
_I recognized those golden_  
_dove wings,_  
_I recognized that clay_  
_and that color of wheat._

_All the years of my life_  
_I walked around looking for them._  
_I went up the stairs,_  
_I crossed the roads,_  
_trains carried me,_  
_waters brought me,_  
_and in the skin of the grapes_  
_I thought I touched you._  
_The wood suddenly_  
_brought me your touch,_  
_the almond announced to me_  
_your secret softness,_  
_until your hands_  
_closed on my chest_  
_and there like two wings_  
_they ended their journey._

It's so perfect, especially the last lines, about how I'd been alone so much during my life, seeking, until I found Jacey and my search was over. I grab Sean in a hug, thanking him for his wonderful choice, and Jacey does too.

Finally the moment is here – as Geoffrey said, we're about to cross the threshold into a new life. "Jacey and Jack have expressed their desire to spend the rest of their lives together, and today they confirmed that by making vows to one another and exchanging rings. Therefore, in the presence of these witnesses, their families and loved ones, I pronounce that they are civilly united under the laws of the State of Illinois and that they are wed in their hearts and in practice. It is my great pleasure to present to you, Jack and Jacey Charles!"

We've asked him not to tell us we're allowed to kiss – because, I mean, _come on_ – and instead we go ahead and share a joyful snog of our own volition, as our loved ones burst into applause. Though we don't have a recessional, we've arranged for a song to be played at this moment, one I've often thought of since Jacey and I committed to each other. It's 'For Once in My Life' by Stevie Wonder. It's old, I know, but it is filled with so much hope, the relief you feel after missing out for so long, and the complete certainty of knowing you've found the one. It's everything I feel about my relationship with my new husband.

The awesome and beautiful thing is that someone – my money is on Kathleen, a huge Stevie Wonder fan – starts dancing along with the joyful refrain, and within seconds our entire group of guests has joined in a few moments of spontaneous dancing, laughing and singing along with the song, holding hands with their own nearest and dearest. It's something you could never plan and one of the best moments of the best day of my life.

When the impromptu dance ends with the conclusion of the song, there's another round of applause. Jacey and I start receiving an onslaught of hugs and congratulations from those around us. Waiters circulate with glasses of champagne and everyone begins to make their way toward the seating areas, gathering on the couches and chairs, relaxing and enjoying themselves as we'd hoped. Everyone loves the décor – Jacey has outdone himself and though he hears more than once that he should think about going into event planning, he just smiles and shakes his head. "Just wait till after dark," he adds.

At six o'clock dinner is served, and the room gradually darkens as the sun vanishes over the horizon. As it does, mauve-colored lights, barely visible in the bright light of earlier today, begin to cast a very different hue on the white couches and flowers from where they are placed at the edges of the ceiling and floor in the lounge area. When no more natural light filters through the windows, the full effect is reached, and it is absolutely stunning.

As dinner winds down and dessert is being served, it's time for speeches. Aaron, our master of ceremonies, gives a speech on behalf of himself and Sean, mostly consisting of mildly embarrassing stories of our younger years. He ends with love and congratulations, and a warm welcome to Jacey as the newest of the Charles boys. My mom is next, and she brings tears to everyone's eyes when she tells me how proud she is of the man I've become, how proud my father was and would be yet if he was with us. She tells Jacey that she's delighted to have him as her son-in-law; that she loves him and she's grateful the two of us have such a loving and happy relationship.

Then it's Leah's turn to speak, and it's very nice to see Brad get up with her as well. Brad and Jacey have both made a real effort to get to know each other despite the geographical distance that makes it challenging. Brad joining Leah at the podium is a symbol of the family connection he and Jacey are fostering. Jacey is so glad to see his mother happy and no longer alone, and as long as Brad is the one who makes her happy, Jacey will support them.

It's no less, of course, than how Leah feels about our marriage. "All a mother can hope for her child," she says, "is for them to be happy and fulfilled, and to live to their best potential. When the baby you've raised to adulthood tells you he's found the love of his life, a person who is intelligent and caring, respectful and responsible, and who loves your child heart and soul, what more can you ask? Jack, you are the one who gives that to Jacey, and I can't imagine his future without you in it. We love you both very much and we look forward to sharing the happiness your lives bring you."

Neil and Ashton both talk about the times they shared with us. Ashton's speech is very much along the lines of what I've recently thought about – a feeling of _how did we get here_ and _wow, are we lucky_. Neil gives some insight into Jacey, how shy he was when they first met and how Jacey blossomed when we were seeing each other. He talks about the trips Jacey made to visit me in Chicago, and that even with Jacey moving away from Austin, he's glad they've maintained their friendship long-distance. He thanks Jacey for making him part of our special day.

Last, Jacey and I take the podium. Together we thank everyone for sharing today with us, and we name the individuals who had a special hand in making the celebrations beautiful. We're so grateful for every one of these individuals in our lives. I thank Ashton and Kathleen, Edward and Jasper, and Mike for being the best friends I could have asked for, beside me in sorrow and with me in joy. Jacey thanks his mom for sacrificing so much for his sake and for raising him in the knowledge that he was always her very first priority; for supporting his choices and also supporting him in things in which he had no choice. I thank my mom for her unconditional love and for the stellar example she and Dad gave me of a loving marriage.

Before we finish, I turn to my new husband. "Jacey, I continue to be astonished that this is my life. I'm happy to concede that all the love songs I used to scoff at were actually telling me the truth. Utter happiness exists, and I found mine in the heart of a sensitive, beautiful and brilliant artist from Texas. I love you."

He replies through happy tears, "I'll sing those songs back to you if you're ever in danger of forgetting. I love you too, Jackie."

Our first dance is another old song, even older than the Stevie Wonder song, but one whose lyrics perfectly capture how I feel about Jacey and our love. Elvis's voice is so genuine, only words and simple melody.

_Take me to your heart, for it's there that I belong_  
_Tell me you are mine_  
_I'll be yours through all the years_  
_You have made my life complete and I love you so_  
_My darling, I love you and I always will_

Jacey's head rests on my shoulder, his lips mouthing the words against my neck. Our dance is more of a long swaying embrace, certainly not as elegant as some more choreographed dances I've seen; but then again, I don't have to worry about which foot goes where. I can just hold my love and inhabit the moment, one that will never come again. I can take in the faint waxy smell of the burning candles...feel the soft wool of Jacey's suit, smooth as I slide my hands over his strong lower back...acknowledge the happiness on the beaming faces around us...and a hundred other details I commit to memory before the last chorus dies away.

The rest of the night goes just as planned, everyone having fun, visiting and dancing. The DJ we've hired is awesome and manages to make everyone happy, even the Texan contingent who get to hear some country (but not too much). Jacey and I dance with just about everyone there, I think, both making sure we get in a few dances with our moms. The party will go strong till midnight, but around eleven we get ready to take our leave. Before our final dance, I track down Mike and ask him to do me a favor. There is baklava included in the items set out for the late night buffet; I ask him to see if he can get the catering staff to wrap some up and if so, could he put it on the backseat of my car, which I'll be driving when we leave. He agrees with a smile, heading off to see what he can do. He has no idea of the significance, of course, but I'm sure Jacey will remember.

We have our final dance and then make our way toward the door, exchanging hugs with everyone who's still there dancing the night away. We'll see our closest friends and family tomorrow afternoon at our house, where my mom is going to host a day-after brunch before we leave on our honeymoon. We finally make it out to the car amid a chorus of goodbyes and realize someone has decorated my car with a _Just Married_ sign on the back and silver streamers tied to the side mirrors.

Holding hands and talking about the day, we make our way to our hotel in the Gold Coast. Since he did so much for the planning of the wedding, I suggested he let me look after the details for tonight, as well as arranging the honeymoon details after we'd decided on the area we wanted to visit. Tonight we're staying at the Elysian. I checked us in earlier when I was on my way downtown for our pictures, bringing our overnight bag. I also brought pillar candles which will, with the fireplace opposite our bed, create a warm glow in the room. At the door to our room I ask Jacey to wait for just two minutes until I come back out. Inside I flick on the gas fireplace and quickly light the candles, turning on no other lights in the room. I step back out and lead him into the room, watching his face as he takes it in.

"Wow, this is gorgeous. Oh my god, a fireplace!"

"Yep," I grin, knowing how much he loves them.

"And all the candles – did you bring these?"

"I did."

"Thank you, Jackie. It's beautiful."

"You're beautiful," I reply in a whisper, drawing him into my arms and into a deep kiss.

The night is as close to perfect as I can imagine. Making love to him is every good thing I've come to know: desire, throbbing heavy in my body as we slowly undress each other, kissing and caressing...a bit of humor as I hand him the Styrofoam container. He opens it to find the baklava and I announce my intention to eat it off his stomach and, perhaps, feed him some too...the exquisite agony of feeling him, hot and slick and tight around me, gripping and flexing, allowing me deeper until I can go no further, and the light sigh he gives when he's ready for me to withdraw and sink back into him...so many things I've learned about him, and the knowing them, expecting them, doesn't diminish the experience or dampen the pleasure. Rather, it enhances it. There are no misread signals or worries about performance. We can give ourselves over wholly to the experience knowing what makes the other sigh in contentment, gasp in pleasure or keen in elation.

I know how much Jacey loves to stroke the soft fuzz of the hair below my navel; he knows how I love his strong, lean hands and long fingers, slender but so masculine. New loves don't have this – only those who allow their love to mellow and age reap the rewards of knowledge like this.

When I've made love to my husband on our wedding night, when I've gently cleansed the residue of our love from his body and climbed into bed beside him, when I've whispered in his ear how much I love him, I have all the happiness I've ever desired wrapped in my arms, wearing a band of platinum around his finger, mine for the rest of time.

-o- -o- -o-

I can go on to tell you that Jacey, feeling stifled in his nine-to-five job, soon expresses to Jack that he dreams to open an art camp like the one he attended and taught at. I can tell you that Jack, being a pragmatist and a businessman, encourages him to first begin teaching classes on weekends and in the evening. Jacey takes his advice, starting small the autumn after their wedding. Over the course of three and a half years, he builds up a client base, a trust relationship with his students and their parents, and an excellent reputation within the Chicago arts community. He becomes busy enough that he can hire first one, then a second former SAIC classmate to help, adding theatre and music to the little school's program. During that time he also plants seeds of interest for the art camp with the parents and in the spring of 2019, four years after their wedding, he opens, with the investment of the owners of Texartopia, an art camp outside Chicago on one of the few remaining lakes not yet surrounded by large homes or a country club.

I can further tell you that at the end of that summer when Jack is helping Jacey tidy his office – the office of the director, thank you very much – before closing up for the season, Jacey tackles Jack onto the floor, exhilarated by the success of their first season. They make love there on his office floor, and Jacey, sitting astride Jack's hips, brings them _this close_ to orgasm before stopping, looking into Jack's eyes and whispering, "Let's have a baby." I can tell you that Jack believes this method of suggesting a major life change to be only fair, all things considered, and he gasps, "Yes!" before Jacey drops them both into heady, consuming release.

I can tell you that months pass after their adoption application, months with no word of a child destined for them, every week dusting a nursery that is fully prepared and ready for an inhabitant, every day loving a baby they've never met, until Valentine's Day, 2021, when they bring home a six-week-old child – a New Year's baby – and the most perfectly beautiful human ever bestowed upon mankind...their son, Spencer Dawes Charles. I can tell you of nights spent gazing at him in wonder as he sleeps in their bed between them, Cupid's bow lips parted and tiny hands bundled into fists beside his head.

I can tell you that Jack, who will be 38 in September, has a dream of his own, to leave behind the high-stress environment of a stock brokerage and concentrate on his new life as a father; that he has no interest in waiting so long for this child only to leave him with a non-parental caregiver five days a week. With Jacey's role at the camp demanding a great deal of his time and taking him out of the city for much of the months of May through August, Jack wants them to live together at the camp during those months so Spencer can spend his summers outdoors and their family can be together every day and every night. He wants to be a stay-at-home dad, the backbone of their home life and and the biggest supporter of Jacey's dreams.

I can tell you that Jacey has been so stressed about the idea of being away from Spencer much of the summer that he's actually considered stepping down as the director. When Jack suggests his solution, offers to leave his job and essentially retire at the ripe old age of 37, Jacey falls in love with his husband all over again, as he has done so many times in the ten years they've known each other.

Or...I can simply end as so many love stories have done, from the most humble anecdote to the grandest epic saga, with my solemn and sincere promise:

_They lived happily ever after._

The End


End file.
